


Life for Life, Death for Death, Love for Love

by PrinceVolker2788



Category: Vermintide II, Warhammer Fantasy, Warhammer: Vermintide
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceVolker2788/pseuds/PrinceVolker2788
Summary: Kerillian and Kruber are separated from the rest of "The Ubersreik Five" amidst an intense battle, leaving the elven Waystalker injured and the human mercenary without a reliable blade. Now forced to rely on one another for survival, the two start to realize how much they mean to the other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first post in over a year, and I apologize for that. I'm pleased to say that I just recently graduated from college.
> 
> Besides that though, I've had this story running around in my head for a few months. 
> 
> If it wasn't obvious, I've fallen into the Warhammer hole, specifically concerning the Sisters of Battle in Warhammer 40K and the Wood Elves in Warhammer Fantasy, or as its known now: Warhammer: Age of Sigmar.
> 
> A little terminology for the uninitiated:
> 
> Slaanesh is the deamon lord of gluttony, excess, and pleasure in the world of Warhammer Fantasy. His primary desire is to consume as many elven souls as possible. Which is pretty much guaranteed unless an elf dies near a magical gem known as a waystone. 
> 
> Upon death, an elf’s soul will enter the gem and act as a barrier against deamon intrusion into their cities.
> 
> This story focuses around two characters in the video game Warhammer: Vermintide II: that of the Human Mercenary Markus Kruber and the Wood Elf Waystalker Kerillian. I hope you all enjoy my little indulgent fic about my two favorite rat slayers bonding... and maybe something more.

         Kerillian tapped her fingers against the wood of her bow in anticipation. Lorner had promised a horde of ratmen en route to a convoy of food supplies. The problem was that they’d been waiting for an hour in torrential rain that would make the citizens of Stromdorf gawp, and the ratmen hadn’t arrived.

        “Can barely feel my toes…” muttered Kruber.

        “Then maybe you should have brought better boots,” snapped Kerillian.

        Though she would never admit it, she could feel the cold seeping into her bones, along with the numbness spreading to her fingertips.

        “No need to be snippy, elf.”

        She rolled her eyes and inspected a single arrow, wouldn’t do to miss a kill due to sub par equipment.

        “ _Stop complaining, food comes to the quickest!_ ”

        The elf snapped her fingers and pointed to the edge of the trail. Kruber, Saltzpyre and Bardin nodded as they prepped their weapons. She prayed this wouldn’t take long, a good fire and a long nap would be much appreciated at this point.

        Kerillian drew the string to her cheek and steadied her breath. Wouldn’t be long now, their foul stench wafted through the air like a globadiers poisons.

        A furry muzzle poked its way into view and she released. She smirked under her mask as it struck home and pinned another rat to a tree trunk.

        With this complete she unslung the glaive from her shoulder and leapt off the fallen tree she’d been balancing on, arching the blade high in the sky as she brought it down on a stormvermin’s skull with a satisfying _chunk_. Surprised squeaks and yelps filled the air as her compatriots followed suit, Kruber and Bardin swept the front ranks with crushing blows, while Kerillian and Saltzpyre tore through the center ranks, slipping under the arms of the lesser vermin with brutal efficiency.

        She heard a familiar hiss and a pop as a blaze of warpfire tore the left flank of the Skaven apart. The elf dove behind a nearby tree, wincing as one of the warp infused bullets scraped her side.

        “Gunners targeting me!” She shouted.

        “Got our own problems wutelgi!”

        Kerillian swore under her breath as her cover was bisected by a stormvermin great sword. They were learning, adapting to their particular method of fighting. Well, she didn’t become a waystalker to be taken out by a simple grunt.

        The elf spun around the trunk and brought the glaive into the ratman’s side. As it reeled, she took a single step back and cleaved its head from its shoulders. Foul brackish blood splattered against the forest floor. Satisfied, Kerillian dove into the underbrush as the ratling gunner adjusted its fire. Thankfully its reactions were slower than the mayflies or she’d have been torn apart long ago.

        Skaven bodies littered the ground around her, making it much easier for her to creep up on the unsuspecting beast. It kept firing at her last known position, ignoring her compatriots with a fervor she hadn’t expected.

_Does it hate me I wonder?_

        The thing barely had time to contemplate its next move before she dug her blade deep into its spine. It let out a shriek of fury as it swung around, tearing the polearm from her grasp. Kerillian growled as she drew two arrows back and let them fly. Only one struck its intended target, but it was enough to make the rat beast pause.

        “Burn in hell!”

        Just as she drew a third arrow to finish the job, a spear impacted the ground by her feet, forcing her to step aside as a veritable wave of Skaven swarmed up the hill on her right.

        “Pull back!” Shouted Bardin, “Its not worth the trouble!”

        Kerillian scoffed as she made her way to the rest of the group, firing at any rat that got too close for comfort.

        As the vermin fell, so too did she into her familiar battle trance, like in Ubersreik when it had just been the five of them in the streets, each member of their little group working in tandem.

        But they had failed, and now the Reikland burned.

        “No more,” she muttered.

        She let one more arrow loose and scuttled up the rock outcropping they had agreed on as their final stand. Kruber’s gauntleted hand clasped her wrist and tugged, giving her enough momentum to flip onto the rockface and resume firing. He took up position behind her, swinging out at the horde that roiled and fumed with fury beneath them.

        “Still cold mayfly?”

        “No, pissed off more like.”

        Kerillian snorted and spun around to cut down an Eshin assassin before it could leap onto the mercenary.

        “Keep your eyes open.”

Kruber grunted as he drove his Zweihander deep into the neck of a stormvermin stupid enough to expose itself. Bardin let out a triumphant shout of glee as the rats started to break, each looking to the other for support as Saltzpyre’s flintlocks blew the brains out of their last squad leader.

She cast her gaze over the retreating force and spotted the rat gunner, lumbering away with the glaive still embedded in its side. She drew back her bow with a confident chuckle.

“Got you now…”

The arrow flew in an arc, descending on the hapless gunner in perfect silence. The rain still fell in sheets, but the satisfaction of a day’s work complete gave the waystalker enough energy to make her way through the dead, collecting as many arrows as she could on the way to her fallen weapon.

The rest of her compatriots were about ten meters behind her, save for Kruber, the man seemed to be watching over her, more so than when they were in Ubersreik. She was content to let him, after being captured by the enemy she welcomed someone by her side. Even if that person was a Lumberfoot.

Rainwater hissed as it impacted with the glowing metal of the ratling gun, creating a small cloud of condensation that hung in the air. As she inspected her kill, a grim sense of satisfaction came over her. There was nothing quite like taking down worthy prey from such a distance.

“You got what you needed?”

Kruber hovered behind her, no doubt curious as she yanked the glaive free. She marveled at the blade’s resilience, any human made weapon would have chipped at such abuse, but not this.

“Oh yes.”

         She hefted the pole arm on her shoulder and nodded towards their allies, still making their way across the battlefield.

         “Not bad mercenary, another decade and we might make a proper soldier of you.”

         Kruber shook his head as he hefted his own blade.

         “I don’t think I’m getting any better, much less younger.”

         “Oh I dunno, your form seems to have improved significantly since Ubersreik. Or else I’m misremembering. Which could be true…”

         Her dreams had quieted as of late, but when they came, they wracked her with visions of terror, elven souls consumed by The Prince of Pleasure, Slaanesh, grown fat in his gluttony. Skaven multiplying unchecked, spreading their foul corruption with the chaos warriors of the north. She’d wake in a cold sweat, silent tears streaming down her face as she struggled to reign in her terrified breaths.

         She thanked Lileath that no one seemed disturbed by her thrashing, but there were days she _wished_ someone would ask about it, just so she could have an excuse. But then again, what would it sound like to the likes of Kruber, Bardin, or Saltzpyre? The ravings of a lunatic?

          Sienna was the only possible option, but the woman seemed subdued as of late, consumed in her devotion to Sigmar. Even Saltzpyre remarked on her reverence of their god with an almost respectful tone.

           So she fought and fought, praying that exhaustion would be enough to hold back the nightmares, to little success.

           Kruber quirked a brow at her silence. She met his gaze, nodding to the Witch Hunter as her approached.

          “I’m going to check on the convoy, they should be arriving soon. Make sure we don’t have any unwanted guests hiding in the underbrush.”

           Kerillian said nothing, leveling a scowl at the man as Kruber made his way down the path and onto the road.

          “You presume much mayfly.”

          “And you’ve yet to earn my trust.”

          The elf scoffed.

          “I would think the months spent in Ubersreik would be enough.”

           She didn’t give him time to respond as she followed Kruber’s path, lightly stepping around the corpses while he merely stepped on them.

          “He’s trying his best I think,” he said as she finished her approach.

          “To what end? Being less of a pompous ass?”

           Kruber chuckled.

          “I think he’s trying to make it work. He’s not so bad ya know.”

          “When he’s not insulting my people, he can be tolerable,” she admitted, though with the taste of bile in the back of her throat.

          “Well you do make it enticing from time to time, the way the bridge of your nose crinkles when you’re angry can be quite amusing if I’m honest.”

           She scowled.

          “See? Like that.”

          Kerillian shouldered her blade and drew her bow, looking in every direction except Kruber’s.

          “What he does is of no concern of mine as long as he ducks when I tell him to.”

          Kruber said nothing as he checked the nearby bodies for signs of life. A few had slid down the hill; most bearing broke arrow shafts embedded in their necks or chests.

          “Well? Are we done here?”

          “We will be if you’d let me have a decent look.”

          She opened her mouth to snap at him and froze as she became aware of a titan sized figure staring at them just behind a cluster of trees.

         “Kruber…” she whispered.

         “Not now.”

         Kerillian let her hand reach out for the sergeant’s shoulder. He tensed under her grip, but only for a fraction of a second.

        “Markus, we have a shadow. No sudden moves. Run for the others when I say,” she hissed, attempting to look as casual as she could with a white knuckled grip on her companion’s shoulder.

        “Where is it?”

         She shook her head.

        “It's not worth it mayfly, just go when I say.”

        “I’m not leaving you behind.”

        Kerillian bit back a groan. Most of the time the man’s loyalty was admirable in its own way, but now it was bordering on infuriating.

        “I’ll be right behind you ya idiot!” she snarled, “Just go!”

        With this, she drew a single trueflight arrow from her quiver, one of three she’d managed to scavenge.

        But the figure was no longer there.

        “I don’t see it!”

        Kruber was only halfway up the hill.

        “Keep moving!”

        A deafening roar split the air, forcing Kerillian’s gaze to her right as a mass of muscle tore through the trees, barreling for Kruber’s exposed position. She fired without thinking, striking the beast she recognized as a bile troll in the arm. She cupped her mouth one handed.

        “Hey, over here!”

        It didn’t turn from its prize. Kruber, to his credit, turned to face the beast, blade in hand. She switched to her glaive and charged, roaring at the top of her lungs. Arrows could do little with this thing’s reach.

        The glaive dug into its shin cleanly, taking a good chunk out of its flesh. It’s arm swatted at her ineffectually, giving Kruber enough time to drive his sword into its chest.

        Heavy bile gushed out of the wound, cutting through Kruber’s gauntlets at a sickening speed. He gritted his teeth, dragging the blade out and striking once more. Kerillian followed his lead, dancing behind the crouching troll to strike at the tendons connecting its feet to its legs.

        She didn’t have time to duck as its hand clamped around her waist. It squeezed its prize, forcing the air from her lungs as it brought her up to its gurgling maw. Everything in her chest hurt, her lungs refused to bring in blessed air as bile made its way to the top of its throat.

        “No you don’t!”

        A familiar Zweihander struck the troll in its throat, not enough to pierce, but enough for it to loosen its grip.

        She fell to the ground in a pained heap, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air as Kruber dragged her away. Damn him, she tried to explain, but _no_ the man just wouldn’t listen.

        Kerillian cast about for her glaive, finding it a good three meters behind the troll. She tried to stand, only to be forced to the ground by the mercenary.

        “No, stay back, I’ve got this.”

        “I had it! If you’d just—”

        The beast roared again, charging Kruber at a frightening speed. She resigned herself and drew her bow, grateful that the wood still retained its shape.

        Kruber halted the beast’s progress with a slice at its legs, where she had struck before. He stepped out of its grasp, drawing it away from her and closer to a nearby bridge. Now she understood.

        Her fingers traced the ridged fletching of a hagbane arrow and drew it from the quiver. Just pulling it back was a trial in of itself; lances of fire ran up her sides. The foul beast had done more damage than she thought.

        _C’mon Kruber, just a bit more…_

The Bile Troll took one lumbering step onto the bridge, and she let it loose.

        Satisfaction took her as the beast stumbled, soon replaced with concern as it continued to move. The poison should have downed it in seconds!

        Despite her body’s protests she rushed forward, scooping up her fallen glaive and driving it deep into the monster’s flesh. It groaned, swatting at her pathetically. So the poison had done its work, just slower than she anticipated.

        “Kruber! Are you alright?”

        The lack of a response drove her to strike again, this time at the back of its knee, which she took clean off. This time it couldn’t just shrug it off.

        “Kruber!?”

        She ran to the front, to find the mercenary struggling in the grip of the troll, armor being crushed like cheap metal. Kerillian didn’t need any further prompting, she hacked away at its fingers, each the width of her arm and twice as strong. Kruber struggling ceased midway through her work.

        “No.”

        She hacked at its ring finger.

        “No!”

        Its pinky.

        “Not today!”

        Finally she severed the thumb from the rest of it, releasing the mercenary in a heap. She dropped the glaive, shaky hands reaching for the healing draught she kept on her person.

        His eyes looked to the sky, vacant, but with a small sliver of life.

        “You aren’t gonna die on me here.”        

        The elf cupped his head and forced the glass in between his lips. She massaged his throat at a hurried pace, the quicker she was, the sooner she could berate him for his foolishness.

        He coughed, shuddering in her arms as breathed deep.

        “You bloody idiot…” she sat back with a relieved sigh.

        “Did we win?”

        She coughed out a laugh.

        “Yeah we won mercenary, now lets—”

        The beast’s remaining hand lashed out at lightning speed, striking both her and Kruber in the ribs and over the bridge. It soon followed, blotting out the meager light as all three tumbled into the raging rapids below.

        The entire world turned on its head as she struck the bone chilling water. It took all her willpower to remain calm and focus on finding Kruber amidst the deluge. The troll’s corpse, at least she hoped it was a corpse, floated behind her, while Kruber’s limp form lay just ahead.

        Kerillian kicked forward, ignoring the thumping pain in her side. She had to get the armor off him; otherwise she’d never get them both to land safety.

        As her fingers found the clasps, a disturbing through hit her: what was keeping her from simply leaving him here? Why was she so dead set on sparing the life of a single mayfly when thousands died every day?

        She didn’t have time to ponder this as the heavy chest plate fell to the bottom of the river. Now she had to get them both to the surface. The Waystalker wrapped her arms around his chest and kicked the bottom of the river. They made it about a meter off the silt before they started to sink. She kicked harder, praying it would be enough, only to find herself falling once again.

        _This is not how it ends! Not here!_

Her lungs were starting to burn, her legs as well. Her question from before made itself known once more.

        Why spare him?

        _Because I care._

Kruber stirred in her grasp, flailing his legs in tandem with hers. This time they rose swiftly, breaking the surface in seconds and gifting the two of them lovely air.

        “The shore!” she screamed, “Find the shore!”

        Whatever strength she had fled her then. It was all she could do to keep herself treading water as Kruber’s powerful arm brought them closer and closer to a sandbank.

        The concept of being truly chilled to the bone hadn’t been adequately understood until they scrambled into a small outcropping out of the rain. Her ribs screamed in protest as she shivered, teeth chattering beyond her control.

        Strong hands rubbed her arms, a familiar mustached face coming into view as she attempted to do the same. Her numb fingers clutched his gambeson tunic, attempting to impart some semblance of warmth into the soaked material.

        “W-we need to strip down,” she whispered.

        “What?”

        He sounded embarrassed, and if he wasn’t as cold as her she was sure he’d be blushing. Nevertheless she forced her hand to cup the back of his neck.

        “Body heat Lumberfoot, no fire, so body heat.”

        Kruber still looked unconvinced, but nodded and turned his back as he started to remove his tunic. Kerillian turned to her own clothes, shaking fingers just managing to remove the tassels on her armor, but when it got to the series of knots on her tunic it became much more difficult.

        “D-damn piece of—”

        “Let me…”

        She stilled. Kruber took up position in front of her and worked away at them with deft speed. Soon he had her shirt completely unfastened, all that remained was her breast wrapping. That she decided to keep, along with her cloak and facemask.

        “No dawdling then…” she said, rubbing her arms and torso as quick as she could.

        “Right.”

        Neither of them moved.

        “For Isha’s sake!”

        She leaned into him, one hand rubbing at his shoulder while the other continued to massage her torso, careful to avoid her bruised ribs. Under normal circumstances she might have taken note of how toned his arms were, but no, not here, not now.

        Kruber, to his credit, took to his task quick, rubbing her back as quickly as he dared, obviously scandalized by the whole thing. Humans could be so prudish. Even simple displays of affection were looked down upon. Among her people this would be considered an act of survival nothing more.

        So why was she trying to hide the burning in her cheeks and praying to whatever gods that would listen he didn’t notice the accompanying redness on the tips of her ears?

        In an attempt to remedy this, she buried her head into his shoulder. Though this only made it worse, for now she could hear his heartbeat. A steady _thump-thump_ that reverberated through his chest in a comforting way.

        She realized why she didn’t mind him keeping an eye on her, why the constant worrying after her health, or how her attitude wasn’t irritating, but endearing.

        He felt safe.

        Kerillian let out a shudder. Kruber brought her closer, which only highlighted the issue for her as her cheek brushed against his chest, now warm from their proximity. Well, his proximity, she didn’t know how much heat she was giving off.

        As if to reassure her, he rubbed harder, transferring as much warmth as he could.

        “K-Kruber.”

        “Uh, yeah?”

        “Thank you.”

        He stopped rubbing.

        “For what?”

        She shifted in his grasp.

        “For staying by my side. I don’t know how long I would have last against that… thing.”

        Kruber visibly relaxed.

        “Ah, well, likewise. Thanks I mean, f-for saving my arse back there. Twice.”

        “Thrice,” she corrected, eyes drooping.

When did she get so tired? All she wanted to do now was sleep, sleep for years if she could.

        “Kerillian.”

        Her eyelids fluttered open, had she fallen asleep?

        “Yeah?”

        “Do you want to sleep somewhere else? You’re not shivering, and I-I wanted to make sure you were—”

        “Shh mayfly…” she slurred, “sleep now, talk later.”

        Her ear fell against his chest once more, though this time without a sense of trepidation. Why forego warmth and safety when it was right here?

        His grip tightened ever so slightly as he adjusted his position, this time to the sandy floor of their little cavern. She became vaguely aware of the sensation of a familiar cloak being draped over their shoulders.

        “Sleep than…” he said, uncertainty still lacing his words.

        “Sleep,” she commanded.

        She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the man’s heart and breathing ease her into a pleasant rest. Or at least what she hoped would be a pleasant sleep. Goddess knew she needed it.

***

        Cold enveloped her, a cold she felt beyond the icy rainwater numbing her fingers and bones. She struggled against it, trying to burrow into something warm. But when she opened her eyes all she saw was darkness, darkness her eyes couldn’t pierce.

        Suddenly, there came a flash of light so vivid it forced her back, craving the darkness more than she previously had. With the light came the howling of a thousand voices crying out in terror, or madness, or whatever fever gripped them. The light seemed to reach out as one, clawing at her body with increasing intensity. She felt their fingers, could almost _see_ them as they stretched forward to touch her.

        Kerillian could do nothing as a single cold finger brushed against her arm, and a wave crashed over her.

        Millions of voices were chanting in her ears, warning her of things to come, or of things that may come. Goddess she couldn’t tell through all the noise. She saw Athel Loren burning, then swallowed by the weave. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her Ulthuani cousins followed, then the dwarves, and even parts of the reikland. Her gods failed, the dwarven gods, all save for Sigmar.

        They were all consumed. The world would fall to darkness, a plaything for the dark powers.

        Just as the light was around her, overwhelming her, it vanished, leaving her in darkness once more.

        Tears still streamed down her face, falling into the nothing around her. She clutched at her shuddering frame in a halfhearted attempt at warming her core. It didn’t help.

        “Why?” She whispered. “Why would you forsake us?”

        “ _Who?_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kerillian wrestles with her dreams, but the two adventurers must press onwards.

           Her eyes snapped open, bringing her face to face with Kruber. He wore a concerned look on his stupid mayfly face. That look nearly cost her her pride several times in battle. Always when she was wounded or hurt he’d direct it towards her. So why was he—

            Kerillian wiped her face, finding a set of tear tracks drying on her cheeks.

            _Damn, he saw me…_

“Its nothing.”

            She moved to sit up and groaned as her ribs let out a fierce protest. Kerillian’s hands went to her sides on instinct.

            “Easy, easy,” he said.

            A thick cloak was draped over her shoulders, still wet, but less so than the previous night. Kerillian allowed herself a muffled word of thanks as the human went about his business for the morning.

            “I reckon were a quarter mile or so down river. If were lucky, we might be able to hitch a ride on one of the refugee wagon trails.”

            “With no weapons and an injured fighter? We wont last a week.”

            “Dunno about that first part.”

            A familiar etched bow found its way to her side, string untied.

            She snuck a glance back at him. Kruber’s eyes were fixed to a smaller short sword he’d somehow managed to get his hands on. It looked like a Skaven blade, but he’d wrapped canvas around the hilt to provide some comfort while swinging it. Her eyes returned to the bow. Perhaps there was some hope.

            Kerillian looked for her tunic and armor and started pulling it on, wincing as she tightened the chestpiece.

            “Goddess grant me strength…”

            “You alright?”

            She let out a slow labored breath and stood, wobbling slightly as she did so.

            “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, “Just… give me a minute.”

            The Waystalker tightened her grip on the bow and positioned it behind her left foot, the unstrung string in her left hand. Kerillian tested her weight, and bent her right knee forward. She strained against the Ithilmar material, biting her lip in a vain attempt to hold back the groan forming behind her teeth.

            She barely made it halfway to the notch before letting out a tiny yelp and falling to her knees.

            Kruber’s hand found its way to her shoulder. She wanted to shrug it off, but all her strength was devoted to holding in a groan.

            “May I?”

            The elf tightened her fingers on the bow.

            “Alright, alright…”

            As the human stepped away she turned, guilt driving her to apologize.

            “I—” she froze, what was she doing?

            Yet there he stood, quizzically cocking his head to the side.

            “Yes. Help… please,” she finished sheepishly.

            Kruber nodded, taking up the bow and stringing it with little effort.

            She took a proffered hand and stood.

            “Right, lets move.”

            Kerillian struggled to follow. The cave’s low entrance forced her to bend at the waist, netting her another flash of pain as they exited their small haven. Sunlight just barely peeked out through the clouds above, illuminating the slow trickling river before them. A sheer cliff wall stood dead ahead, slick with the river’s passing and the recent rainfall. Kerillian sighed inwardly and looked to her boots. Even if she weren't wounded that would be a trial to traverse.

            A grunt of exertion brought her attention forward. Kruber was attempting to do that very thing, with little success. He tensed, arms struggling to maintain a grip before falling to his ass with a half-muttered curse.

            She scoffed.

            “You’ll never get up there that way, mayfly.”

            “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try elf.”

            Kerillian gestured to her side.

            “Afraid not, we’ll just have to find another way.”

            “What good’s a wood elf that can’t climb?”

            She offered a consoling pat on the shoulder as she slid past him. Her boots felt slick against the stone, forcing her to clutch the rock face tight. Kruber’s greaves scraped against the shale with grating creaks. Kerillian twitched, turning to fix the man with a stern glare.

            “What?”

            “Could you make any more noise?"

            The human shrugged, punctuating her point by thwacking his bracer against the stone.

            She rubbed her eyes in irritation. This wasn’t going to be easy, she had no blade and her quiver was dry. Kruber himself only carried a shoddy Skaven made sword, add to that her wound and their prospects of getting home were relatively slim.

            Kerillian paused her ministrations at the word “home,” looking to Kruber with a curious glance.

            “What?”

            “Nothing, just… follow me, and please try to keep quiet.”

            “I’ll do my best.”

            Progress was slow, wet, and altogether grating. Mosquitoes buzzed in Kerillian’s ears, even getting a few free bites in before she swatted them away. Kruber wasn’t faring any better, she could see several patches of gambeson that refused to dry and how they chafed. Even her clothes retained an uncomfortable amount of moisture in the joints and boots. Every step swished water between her toes and irritated her skin.

            A swatting sound reached her ears.

            “Sigmar’s teeth, blasted insects!”

            She shot a look over her shoulder.

            He waved his arms in irritation.

            “Aren’t they biting you?”

            “Of course, I just don’t feel the need to vocalize it every time it happens.”

            “Rrr, just tired of this whole mess, all I want is to flop onto a bed and sleep for thirteen hours.”

            Kerillian halted their little procession to peek around a bend in the rock wall.

            “Only thirteen? I could go for twenty four.”

            “Need the other eleven for drinking away the memory of that troll’s breath.”

            She allowed herself a chuckle at that.

            “As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I may have to join you for that. Damn thing puked on my boots, can still smell the bile.”

            “So that’s what that is.”

            Her eyes caught sight of foliage in the distance, breaking the slate grey corridor they’d been traversing with a splash of familiar green. She smirked, waving Kruber forward and pointing to the forest undergrowth.

            His lips split into a wide smile.

“Thank the Gods,” she whispered.

            “Well done,” he set a hand on her shoulder and lightly squeezed, “C’mon.”

            Kruber led the charge now, weapon at the ready and eyes forward. To the man’s credit, his armor was blissfully silent against the rush of the river. She felt at the spot where his hand had been, missing the warmth it provided.

            She froze.

            _Where did that come from?!_

Kerillian shook her head; she was just tired and cold. Even a mayfly’s warmth would do at this point.

 

***

 

            She wanted to fall to her knees and kiss the soil. Finally, stable ground that wasn’t completely soaked.

            “Where to from here?”

            The Waystalker shouldered her bow, moved to a nearby tree, and closed her eyes. The river itself faded from the background, leaving her with nothing save for the sounds and scents of the wood.

            Creaking of wood on mud, horse grunts, an admonishment for sluggishness. “Mayfly wagon, due east. Follow me.”

            Kerillian grinned under her mask as she flitted from tree to tree, a sense of true bliss settling over her shoulders. This was where she belonged: among the forests of the world, trusting her feet to take her where she needed to go.

            “Oi, slow down will ya?”

            She slowed her pace, losing the smile as Kruber caught up. The thrill of the hunt vanished as old instincts took over. Ears and eyes open, tread lightly, and watch your allies back.

            “You seem a bit quiet.”

            “Just thinking,” she mumbled, taking position beside him.

            The human nodded, brow creasing in concentration as he surveyed the woods ahead of them.

            “How far off are we?”

            Kerillian took a moment to listen, cocking her head to the side. There.

            “About a mile. If we move quickly, we might be able to catch them.”

            “A mile? Think you can make that in your condition?”

            She had to restrain herself from scoffing too hard. If anything s _he_ should be the one questioning him. She wasn’t the one who nearly died yesterday.

            “Just try and keep up mayfly.”

            Kerillian took off in a dash, slipping her bow over her shoulder as she vaulted a fallen tree trunk. She heard muffled curses as the mercenary struggled to keep up. In this instance, Kerillian truly had the advantage. Even if Kruber lacked the armor, he was still slower than her, and far less dexterous. Foliage whizzed past her head in green and brown blurs, occasionally broken by a small clearing or recent fire damage from gods knew what.

            She was surprised at how little of the forest seemed to have suffered the same fate as Helmgart. In fact—

            The she-elf stopped to inspect what she thought was a fallen stone, only to find a familiar red gem embedded in its center.

            “Trouble?” Called Kruber.

            “Come here, quiet as you can,” she whispered.

            He barely made a rustle as he sidled up next to her.

            “These look the same as the ones in Athel Yulani.”

            “Meaning what?” Kerillian prompted.

            “That we’re in the middle of a temple?”

            She nodded, “Or near it. I don’t know, I didn’t feel anything, much less _see_ anything. But I should have done.”

            He stood, readying his blade.

            “I don’t like this.”

            “Nor I, but there it is.”

            She bent low and scooped up a piece of the stonework, pocketing it without a thought. The soul embedded in this was long gone. And besides, her Ulthuani cousins were too far from these lands to complain about it.

            “C’mon, we have a wagon to catch.”

            The rest of the trek was held in silence, both members of the “Ubershriek Five” were still on edge; whatever happened in that place had been powerful enough to wipe it from the fabric of the weave itself. Which meant they dared not linger, lest they befall the same fate.

            Soon they reached the edge of the forest tree line. Before them lay a muddy strip of road, well traveled by the looks of it. But the wagon was not there.

            “What?”

            Kerillian looked left and right, seeing no sign of the thing. Funny, considering she’d just heard it not ten minutes ago. It should have been right there in front of them.

            A scream pierced the air, female, young.

            Kruber was already on the move, all sense of stealth forgotten in favor of helping someone in need. Kerillian sighed, if he wanted to play the hero, then she had no choice but to follow along and make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Maybe she could pick up a weapon of her own as well.

            Horrid screams echoed through the sky, followed by the sounds of metal on flesh. Kruber roared as he rushed down the small incline and into the fray. Kerillian followed suit, noting at least five chaos cultists assaulting the wagon. Two men lay dead on the grass, while a young woman struggled to fight off one of the rotbloods.

            Kruber charged the Northlanders, getting past their defenses with ease to drive the Skaven blade deep into the one assaulting the woman. Kerillian rushed forward, coming between the survivors and the remaining Rot Bloods. The cultist’s eyes widened in bloody satisfaction as she took a defensive stance.

            The first man brought his axe down over handed. She dodged with ease, feeling only a twinge of pain from her ribs as he missed. The blade sunk deep into the loam at her feet and got stuck. Kerillian moved into his space, striking at the pressure points along his arm and tearing the axe from his now immobile fingers.

            This completed, the elf stepped back and brought the axe down onto the stunned man’s head with a satisfying _squish_. Brackish blood splattered against her exposed cheek. She turned, bringing the haft of the axe to deflect an oncoming blade. The cultist grinned, letting out a puff of foul breath that wrinkled her nose as she forced him from her space. She lunged, bringing the tip of the axe deep into his chest.

            He grunted, letting a spurt of blood escape his lips as he shoulder barged into the elf. Kerillian yelped as his elbow connected with her cracked ribs. She rolled, trying to mitigate the damage as best she could but the pain still flared, angry like fire. She gasped, clutching the wound in a vain attempt to dull its spread. Her vision blurred as she attempted to stand, casting about for the axe.

            The Northlander struck the flat edge of his blade against her temple, exacerbating her blurred vision. She grit her teeth and focused her attention on the sounds around her person. Heavy boots thundered towards her. Kerillian rolled under the wagon, feeling the blade miss her by mere centimeters.

            She took a deep breath and regretted it immediately; the stench of shit and death was all around her. That combined with the tell tale aroma of mayfly sweat left her hating the stupid plan all the more.

Kruber finished reciting a litany as a satisfying _squelch_ noise reached her ears.

            “Dammit, he’s getting away!”

            Kerillian scrambled out from the wagon and scooped up the fallen axe. Her eyes just caught the outline of a battered metal helm. She summoned a burst of energy from her legs and jumped over the small hill. Time seemed to slow as she descended on the hapless Rotblood, bringing the blade in an arc as she performed a front flip and let go.

            The brute barely had time to scream as the blade impacted with a gruesome _crunch_. Unfortunately, her joy in the kill was mitigated by the sudden impact of hard earth against her ribs. She wanted to roll, but her body screamed in protest as she slumped to the ground in a painful heap.

            “Kerillian…”

            Kruber’s hand snaked around her arm with a gentleness she didn’t expect. He tugged, bringing her to a sitting position and into his arms.

            “You alright?”

            “Think I made it worse,” she hissed, “we got them all, right?”

            He nodded, whipping his head to the right as one of the peasants approached, wringing his hands. Kerillian judged him to be about middle aged by human standards. He was just starting to grey at the temples, and bore the telltale signs of a farm worker, calloused hands, the accompanying tan, and a somewhat stooped back. The elf sighed and leaned into Kruber’s shoulder, feeling a few droplets of rain spatter on her bloodstained cheek.

            “Thank you sir, ma’am. W-why would you help us?”

            Kruber worked an arm around her shoulders and brought her to her feet. She allowed it, all her energy was spent in the last few seconds of combat

            “To be honest sir, that was merely good fortune, our intent was to catch up with you and well…”

            The elf stood straighter and stepped away from Kruber.

            “We need time to rest, recuperate. We were hoping you could provide some transportation to our keep.”

            The peasant’s eyes widened as he took her form in full, reminding her very much of a surprised deer just before the kill. He stammered, and was forced to start his sentence over more than once before finally speaking.

            “I, well, we might be able to help fair maiden, but its just, we—”

            “Blessed Gods, spit it out!” Kerillian snapped.

            The farmer jumped.

            “Right, it’s just that we’re on our way to Helmgart to trade.”

            Kerillian heaved out a sigh and moved to the Rotblood corpse.

            “Er, what does that mean?”

            Kruber started filling him in on the Skaven activity in the area, and the Northlander’s raids of the local farmlands. She didn’t care to listen in on the farmer’s response, but he sounded distressed, even angry.

            The elf took a knee and started wrenching the buried axe out of the cultist’s corpse. It took most of her strength to do so, and even then her side throbbed with every beat of her heart. She hissed and pressed her hand against the wound.

            “How can you expect me to believe you? For all I know you’re some deserter trying to bum a ride off me and mine.”

            “Why in bloody hell would a deserter be traveling with an elf?!”

            “I dunno, maybe she promised you great riches, or something a little more ‘intimate’, like the stories.”

            Kerillian scoffed under her breath and stood.

            “We’re a part of a group trying to prevent the end of the Reikland, though there are times I question my sanity in remaining among you mayflies.”

            The farmer started when she fixed her pitch black eyes onto him.

            “And as to the second ‘concern’,” she said, resting the haft of the axe on her shoulder, “Kruber is not the unfaithful sort, nor would he desert his fellows in battle.”

            Kruber visibly puffed up at her words, bringing a warm sensation to her chest. She hoped he couldn’t see the tinge of pink forming on her ears as she cleared her throat.

            “Is that enough? Or would you prefer an intricate lesson on the finer points of rat man dissection?”

            She pulled a rat-tail from her side satchel and dangled it in front of the hapless farmer. He flinched away, gagging on the admittedly horrific smell.

            “Fine, fine, but I want to see Helmgart for myself.”

            Kruber sighed.

            “Alright mate, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

            The farmer moved to the front of the wagon and started speaking in hushed tones with a woman Kerillian could only assume to be his wife. Two children poked their heads just above the rim of the wagon as they approached. The first—a girl—locked eyes with her and gasped before ducking behind the wood once more. The boy continued to stare, eyes wide with an emotion Kerillian could only assume to be awe. She’d have chuckled if exhaustion weren’t permeating her entire being. What a sight she must be: smothered in muck, blood, and what she prayed was tree sap and not troll bile. And yet here this child was, gazing at her as if she were spun from pure gold.

            “Renald!”

            The now named child ducked behind the wagon.

            “I could help you bury…” said Kruber.

            The farmer nodded, reaching into the bed of the wagon to pull out two spades and handed one to Kruber. The two humans began their solemn work, while Kerillian sat on the edge of the wagon and started assessing her current state. True to her assumptions, the armor was caked in both mud and human entrails. Kerillian forwent all sense of pride as she tore them from her body and dropped them in a heap.

            The elf reclined onto a pile of canvas and closed her eyes.

Finally, a place to rest.

            “Why do you wear a mask?”

            “Renald!” Snapped the boy’s mother.

            Kerillian opened her eyes and quirked an eyebrow at the little boy.

            “Because I stuck my nose where it wasn’t wanted.”

            His brow furrowed.

“Are you an angel?”

            She let out a short guffaw.

            “Far from it.”

            Kerillian turned to meet his gaze, settling her pitch black eyes onto his dark blue. Renald shivered, but curiously, straightened his posture and crossed his arms in a show of strength. His sister stood behind him, nervously playing with her golden hair while watching the two of them.

            “Now don’t bother the woman, Renald, Abigail! Come help me with this!”

            The children jumped to their mother’s wishes, leaving Kerillian mildly amused. Bardin would be having a right time of it, as would Sienna.

            A disturbing thought entered her mind. What happened to them? Surely they made it out all right? And why did she suddenly care?

            Dammit, this is what she _didn’t_ want happening all those months ago.

            “Blessed Sigmar, grant these brave souls passage into Shyish. May Morr bring them to their just reward.”

            Kerillian thought back to the broken waystone and felt the heavy weight of loss settle in her heart. How many souls did the Prince of Pleasure take to be tormented? Twenty? A hundred? Far too many.

            “Amen.”

            The elf closed her eyes.

            A heavy boot tread approached, followed by a familiar clink of greaves as Kruber plopped down next to her. She cracked one eye open, letting her irritation show on her face. The mercenary pulled off his gauntlets and took a deep breath.

            “Long day,” he said, nodding towards the pile of Rotblood corpses.

            “Not my longest though.”

            Kruber chuckled.

            “Do you ever have anything nice to say?”

            “Only on my good days.”

            “I’ve yet to see one of those.

            She leaned into the corner of the wagon.

            “We should probably check your injury.”

            Kerillian grumbled under her breath as she sat up, fingers untying her tunic and the rest of her armor. Kruber’s cheeks flushed as he hurriedly inspected the wound. True to her assumptions, the bruise on her ribs had grown in size, and its edges were touched with a light yellow.

            “Not good.”

            “Really?” Kerillian groused.

            The man mumbled as he pulled out a new roll of gauze and began his work. She looked up, catching the eyes of the farmer’s wife. Her face was even redder than Kruber’s, a sight she couldn’t help but bite her lip at to prevent from snickering. This was probably the most risqué situation the woman had seen in her entire life. Even with the fact that she wasn’t _technically_ naked, she might as well have been with the Empire’s codes of decency.

            Kruber finished his work and handed over her tunic. She slipped it on with out complaint, satisfied that the pain had lessened to a dull ache. The farmer’s wife remained where she was.

            “Are you two….” She said, gesturing to the two of them.

            “Allies,” said Kerillian, “Nothing more.”

            Kruber nodded in agreement, moving to the front of the wagon to take up the reigns. The children clambered in behind the produce, still gazing at Kerillian with the same wide-eyed awe as before. Kerillian opted to ignore this as she rolled up her cloak and settled back into the corner of the wagon as it began to roll forward.

            Idle conversation filled the air as her eyes blessedly slipped closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read/given kudos/commented! I plan to keep this puppy going for a while :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than the last two, but I'm happy with how it turned out.   
> Thanks again for commenting/leaving kudos or just reading, its really encouraging to see this kind of response!

            “All I’m saying is that you’re wasting your time. Helmgart is _gone_ mate.”

            “And all I’m saying is that I want to see it for myself.”

            Kerilian’s eyes flicked open at the brewing argument around her.

            “I don’t know about this Clive, maybe we should listen to em.”

            The elf groaned and rose to a sitting position, catching the attention of both Renald and Abigail. She stretched, letting out a small yawn and sighing in satisfaction as her joints popped. Judging from the sun’s height in the sky and the relative stiffness in her limbs it was easy to surmise she had slept through the night and into midday. Had they even stopped to rest the horses?

            “How far along are we?” Kerillian asked.

            “Bout twenty miles out from where we started, and another ten from a little hamlet called Wesendrum,” said Kruber.

            “Mmm…”

            The elf turned to assess her weapons and armor. The Rot Blood’s axe was of a fine make, but she could sense the _evilness_ of it. She’d want to get rid of it as soon as possible. Her bow was still strung, and thankfully maintained its shape despite its recent mishandling. Her bark armor was cracked in some areas, but it looked fit to wear, though it would need a good cleaning before the week was out; along with the rest of her clothes.

            “Is there a river in that town? Or a stream?”

            “Dunno, might be.”

            Kerillian sighed as she fixed her cloak around her neck and shimmied out of the back of the wagon.

            “Where are you going?” Kruber asked, worry coloring his voice.

            “Scouting! Or do you want a repeat of yesterday?”

            Hearing no objections, the elf marched past Kruber and patted his thigh before rushing into a nearby cluster of trees. She had to make up for sleeping through morning, and for taking up so mush space. Her bow was useless at the moment, but if she was lucky she might be able to snare a few birds, maybe find decent wood for arrows.

            Kerillian let her fingers graze against the trees around her, probing for weakness, strength, and age. She inspected the leaves for species, sniffed the branches, pressed her ear against a few. A small smirk met her lips as she settled in front of a tall oak with plenty of low hanging branches. Hefting her axe, and muttering a silent prayer of thanks, she swung.

            The branch fell to the forest floor with a thump. From the looks of it she could probably fashion at least ten good-sized arrows from the wood itself. The bark would do for basic twine, and she could mix flour and water from the wagon for an adhesive.

            Kerillian spent the better part of ten minutes collecting suitable branches from the tree and forest floor, rushing back to the wagon to deposit her spoils into the back. With this complete she rushed ahead to do some true reconnaissance.

            Thankfully the world around her was more than willing to share with her the goings on. From the looks of things, a few rot blood patrols had indeed come through here, though the tracks were weeks old, perhaps a scouting party?

            This troubled her. The Northlanders weren’t exactly known for their subtlety, as evidenced by their haphazard attack attempt on the wagon. So where were they? The elf stood, fingers dragging across the haft of her weapon in preparation. For what she couldn’t say, but she didn’t survive this long without trusting her instincts.

            A figure crashed through the trees to her left. She turned, bringing her axe to bear on—

            _An Elf?!_

She bore the armor of a handmaiden of the Everqueen, gold breastplate, greaves, and a peaked helm that bore her long blonde hair in a high ponytail. Her blue eyes were crazed, manic as she swung a glaive at Kerillian. The Waystalker acted without thought, blocking the polearm with her axe as best she could.

            To her horror, and a small sense of pride, the Rotblood weapon was cleaved in two. Thankfully its edge only nicked her armor, but Kerillian was forced to dance back from the woman’s next strike. Thick crimson blood caked the Maiden’s left leg, stemming from a large bite wound in her abdomen.

            Kerillian dropped both halves of her weapon and raised her hands.

            “Sister, be still, I’m a daughter of Athel Loren. You’re injured, I mean you no harm.”

            The Handmaiden cocked her head to the side for but a moment, then snarled and charged, going for Kerillian’s arms, legs, anything that was within safe reach of the polearm. The Waystalker did her best to avoid the strikes, but sooner or later the other woman was going to clip her. So she had to act now.           

            Kerillian stepped into the maidens next strike, positioning her foot so it swept between her opponents legs and twisted. It hurt like hell, but the High Elf fell to the forest floor. She pounced, grabbing for the other woman’s weapon, only to receive a punch to her injured ribs for her trouble.

            A yelp of pain escaped her lips, along with the rest of the air in her lungs. The Maiden wasted no time in pinning Kerillian to the forest and striking her side again and again. A sickening _crack_ reached her ears as her damaged ribs finally buckled under the stress. Ragged breaths were all she could manage now as she scrabbled for purchase against the other woman’s armor. Sweat streamed down Kerillian’s brown, mingling with the unbidden tears blurring her eyes.

            Her fingers found the Maiden’s wounded side.

            It was only with a small twinge of regret that Kerillian struck the bite wound, hard.

            In a second the Maiden was on the ground, screaming into the dirt.

            Kerillian tried to take a breath, only to push it out just as quickly. She was in trouble now; something was well and truly broken. She’d been wounded before, but nothing this debilitating. Every breath was a new fiery torture. It took all her self-control to take a single breath.

            She struggled to rise, only to have a familiar shadow scrabble onto her and start squeezing her throat. The iron grip increased in pressure, making Kerillian’s ineffectual smacks against the woman’s breastplate akin to the pawing of a kitten. Her vision started to darken, and the telltale whispers of the queen of darkness entered her mind.

           “ _Not… the pale… queen…_ ” she whispered in elvish.

            The Maiden’s grip slackened, letting Kerillian take a single breath of air as her eyes went wide.

           “ _W-What?_ ” Kerillian rasped.

           The woman blinked, as if truly seeing her for the first time. She reached forward to pull the facemask from Kerillian’s mouth. The Waystalker didn’t have tome to object, much less stop her as a look of horror crossed the High Elf’s features. Tears welled in her eyes as she slowly - gently - gripped Kerillian’s shoulders and brought her to a sitting position.

            Kerillian blinked once more, dumbfounded by the sudden shift in mood. Every breath was a struggle; her ribs were definitely broken now.

            “ _What is going on?_ ” Kerillian hissed through her teeth.

            The maiden twitched. Her eyes widened even more as she looked around their surroundings in rapid succession. The Maiden Flashed a series of hand gestures before her face.

            “ ** _Are we safe here?_** ”

            Kerillian opened her mouth to snap, but froze at the other elf’s honest and concerned expression. She kept looking over her shoulder, as if expecting the vines themselves to spring to life.

            The Waystalker sighed—and immediately regretted it—before mustering enough breath to answer.

            “ _Aye, we’re safe sister. As long as you don’t start trying to bash my chest in again._ ”

            The Maiden's lips threatened to twitch into a smirk.

            “ ** _I apologize, I have… not been myself._** ”

            “ _Clearly. Now would you mind explaining what the hell just happened?_ ”

            Her new companion’s amused expression fell. She let her gaze drop to the forest floor as she tugged at a blade of grass.

            “ ** _Chaos,_** ” she finnaly signed, “ ** _attacked our scouting unit. A blasted wytch cast a spell on me. I don’t know what kind. Or if I'm free of it_** ”

            “ _Never mind that, were you near an old temple?_ ”

            She snapped to attention, narrowing her eyes at Kerillian. Obviously she wasn’t supposed to know about that.

            “ _My—_ “ she paused as the word ‘friend’ on the tip of her tongue. Had it really been so long since she’d seen her own kin that a simple _mayfly_ was considered such a thing?

            Looking back over the past few months, could she really say no? They’d fought, bled, drank, and yes, laughed together as a group for some time now, at least in human terms.

            And Markus…

            When had it stopped being ‘Kruber’ or ‘mercenary’? Ubersriek? Stromdorf? She couldn’t say.

            All she knew was that he was different. In a band of mass murderers, crazies, and in some cases a combination of all three, he was probably the purest. He always tried to keep things civil between them, cracking a joke when it was needed, (not that she’d tell him that), tending to her more grievous wounds when he could, and with always the gentlest touch.

            Kerillian let her hand rest over her ribs.

            He was important to her.

            Dammit.

            God’s dammit all to bloody hell.

            Kerillian shook her head, no time for that.

           “My ally and I found what was left of the temple.”

            The Maiden pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes.

           “You’re sisters could still be…”

            All she got was a slow shake of the head. It was a lost cause and Kerillian knew it, but she needed to do something besides offering mere condolences. So she stuck out a hand.

           “We have a Wagon just ahead with a few others, we can get you help there.”

            The Maiden looked up, eyes dried.

           “C’mon, you might as well help me stand, considering I can’t.”

            The other elf slung her glaive over her shoulder and took Kerillian under her uninjured side. It took time, but the two women were just able to manage a hobble between them.

***

            Now that she could get a better look at her, there were far more wounds on the Maiden that Kerillian had previously thought. The remnants of an arrow shaft was stuck in the Maiden’s shoulder, along with a vicious slash in her calf. The greaves she was wearing might as well have been made out of parchment for all the good it did her.

            Add to that the massive claw mark on her abdomen and it was a miracle the woman was still standing, much less taking Kerillian’s weight.

            But she had her own problems; the ribs were going to take a long time to heal without magical intervention. And she was pretty sure she’d suffered some cuts from the glaive. Minor, but they could become major if left untreated.

            Regardless, the two of them made their way out of the forest and into the road. The wagon was a good twenty yards ahead of them. She cupped a free hand to her mouth.

            “Markus! Slow down! Can’t keep up!”

            There was movement in the front as her companion passed the reins off to the Farmer and rushed to meet them.

            “What happened?!”

            “Relax Mayfly, just a… minor misunderstanding between elves.”

            The human looked thoroughly unconvinced as he took Kerillian’s other side and increased their pace.

            "You elves have a very odd way of settling misunderstandings."

            "And you think you humans are any better?" Kerillian quipped, letting a small hint of relief enter her voice. 

            Kruber fell into a small rant about the stubbornness of elves and dwarfs on their way to the cart. She could tell he was only halfway invested in his argument. A small smirk threatened to break out across his lips every time he got close to making eye contact with her.

            “Lady Kerillian!” Cried one of the children.

            “Lady?” Kerillian whispered.

            “Dunno what to tell ya, they seem to have taken a liking to you.”

            “Lovely,” she muttered.

            The Maiden grimaced as she was set onto the back of the wagon. To her credit, she managed to hold in whatever groans of protest she might have had with a human treating her. From the looks of things, her injuries were easily treatable, but like Kerillian’s would take time to heal.

            Which meant a lot of lying about and not moving.

            Bother…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kruber takes stock of the last few days, and enjoy's the simple pleasures of a good ale and relatively pleasant company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me on this little ride, expect more in the future. Been busy these last few weeks, so thanks for patience and encouragement.

            Kruber looked over his shoulder at the two elves, two now - just his luck - and quirked a brow. Kerillian seemed to be in good spirits, despite the numerous injuries she’d sustained in the past day or so. The Maiden, as Kerillian described her, looked no better. He’d done his best to bandage their wounds, but he knew that a good healer was probably their best bet for a speedy, and uncomplicated recovery. Still he had to admire their tenacity, and hardiness. Seemed that there was more to elves than just graceful slaughter.

            He chuckled to himself at that and turned to the farmer. He’d been driving the wagon for the better part of the day now, eyes glued to the road and nothing else.

            “Copper for your thoughts?”

            Clive harrumphed under his breath and leaned in so only Kruber could hear.

            “Don’t know about you, but one elf was bad enough, now we got two of em’. Makes me nervous. How do we know we can trust the silent one?”

            Kruber wanted so scoff at the man’s paranoia, but if he were honest with himself, he’d have felt the same way not eight months ago. Of course Kerillian had more than earned his trust in that time, somehow she was always there to cover his back when needed, despite what her prickly attitude might suggest. He paused. Come to think of it, it seemed that all the members of the Ubersreik Five were a bit prickly, even Goreksson without a good drink in hand, or ten.

            He chuckled; by Sigmar what he’d give for a drink.

            “What are you grinning about mercenary?”

            Kerillian’s inquiry drew him out of his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring at the two elves for probably some time.

            “Er, nothing, just missing good ale.”

            To his surprise, the waystalker smirked under her mask. He could tell by the faint creases that formed in the corner of her eyes.

            “As I said, I might have to join you on that, if we find any.”

            Kruber quirked a brow.

            “You?”

            She shrugged, or tried to, her wound only let her life her shoulders about half an inch.

            “Might as well, not getting good elf drink anytime soon, not unless we pillage a Bretonnian wine merchants wares.”

            That prompted a short guffaw from their driver.

            “They’re coach guns would tear you apart in a half a second elf.”

            “Oh I dunno,” she shot back, with the air of a cat readying to pounce on a rather lazy mouse, “that convoy near Stuttburg didn’t seem so tough at the time.”

            She smirked once more as the farmer gave the desired response, muttering under his breath about elvish untrustworthiness and several curses that would make the most foul-mouthed Stromdorf street urchin take pause.

            “Best not to try verbally spar with her, mate. She can take whatever you say and turn it against you with barely a thought.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind.” Clive muttered.

            Kerillian was still smirking by the time Kruber looked back.

            She was doing a lot more of that lately: joking, smiling. Seems their brush with death had changed a few things, that or the run in with a God of Chaos. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she showed no signs of obvious corruption, but then again he wasn’t a witch hunter with years of experience under his belt, just some poor sod that happened to run into a necromancer at the wrong time.

            Yet he knew the elf, and despite his better judgment, he trusted her.

            He absentmindedly pawed at his ribs, now healed, but still sore from the beating the troll had given him. If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking neither of them might have made it.

            She risked her life to save him, and though it might have been the lack of oxygen, he could have sworn she was shaking when she’d shoved the healing draught down his gullet. Never mind the hundreds of times she’d insulted him or Saltzpyre or Bardin, she was still willing to risk her life for the lot of them.

            The Mercenary smiled at her when her gaze was elsewhere. She’d never admit it, but it was nice to know.

            “We’re here, Wesendrum.”

            When Clive had said it was a small town, Kruber hadn’t taken time to appreciate what that meant. Even _his_ hometown was bigger than this place. There couldn’t have been more than fifty, maybe thirty people running around in what passed for a village square. The peasants looked on with a mixture of awe and fear as the admittedly curious convoy of humanity and elf kind simply rolled into town unannounced.

            An older man approached with graying hair that had mostly abandoned its post and offered a curt nod to Kruber, and a barely contained look of mistrust at the two women.

            “What is your business here, if I may ask?”

            “Heading to Helmgart.” Clive said, much to Kruber’s chagrin.

            The Roadwarden, as Kruber came to recognize, though only from the distinctive handgun slung over his arm, frowned and looked over his shoulder.

            “I’d appreciate it if you kept such matters to yourself. Wouldn’t want to start a panic now would you?”

            He palmed the butt of his handgun for emphasis. To say the effect was somewhat spoiled would be generous, as his ill fitting breastplate could barely contain the fat that seemed to pour forth from the sides.

            Kruber had to turn so not to laugh in the man’s face, but Kerillian’s obvious amusement was plain as day. Her shoulders were shaking, as were the Maiden’s. Seemed that the snobbery was inherent in the race rather than on an elf-to-elf basis.

            “What are you giggling about she-elf?” Sniped the Warden.

            Kerillian palmed her face and waved him away, but her distinct cackle was all too obvious. Her companion simply bit her lip and turned away.

            “Are you disrespectin’ a man of the law elf?”

            “Disrespecting would indicate a base level of respect to begin with,” Kerillian said through a snicker, “something you clearly lack.”

            The Warden’s face went bright red as he struggled to form a response, but he seemed to be leaning towards shoot first, ask questions later.

            Kruber casually set his Skaven blade on his lap.

            “You’ll have to forgive my elvish friends, spending three days on the road with no bath in sight will do that to anyone.”

            The other man’s eyes lingered on Kruber’s weapon, no doubt linking it with the past months havoc and terror. Thankfully he seemed to put two and two together, a tall man in empire plate accompanied by a green cloaked she elf were hardly an inconspicuous pair.

            “I see,” the Warden hissed. He took a breath, letting his hand fall away from the handgun and pointing to a brown building on the left end of the plaza. “Miss Emma will take any boarders with good coin.”

            “Thank you kind sir.”

            Kruber nodded to Clive, who promptly spurred the horses to action.

            “What was that?” He asked s they rode out of earshot.

            “Bit of negotiation.”

            “I think that’s the most I’ve seen you use your wits in weeks,” Kerillian mused, tapping a freshly carved arrow shaft against the place where her lips would be.

            The tavern in question was aptly named “The Strangers Rest”. It looked mostly well built, with the exception of the severe slant hat passed for a stable. Kruber shrugged at Clive’s obvious doubts and jumped to the muddy earth. The Maiden aided Kerillian’s exit, giving her as much of a hand as she could. From what he could get out of the Waystalker, there was a scuffle, and something to do with the vanished temple they’d passed through two days previous.

            _Best leave them to it, elf magic’s weird enough without my help._

            Kruber stepped into the darkened common room, drawing several eyes. Just behind te counter was a rather portly woman with rosy cheeks and a fine layer of flour up to her forearms.

            “Ah, more guests. Do come in!”

            “Brace yourselves mates,” he whispered.

            Just as he expected, the crowd reacted with a mixture of awe and terror as the two elves entered the establishment, slashed and bloodied as they were. Kerillian herself pushed away from the Maiden, opting to stand tall as she crossed the threshold and sought out a booth in the far corner. He could see a faint splatter of blood staining her snow-white hair a faint crimson. The maiden stood beside Kruber, offering what he assumed to be some form of support with her glaive slung over her shoulder.

            “We er, need a few rooms, and ale. Lots of it.”

            To her credit Emma took to her work quickly, assigning two kitchen staff to bring the ale and providing a set of keys herself.

            “Might want to keep those two inside after dark. No telling what this lot might do.”

            “Trouble?”

            “Not as such, its just…”

            She looked over Kruber’s shoulder. He followed her gaze and caught sight of Kerillian showing off her dagger skills with a familiar game involving fingers and the spaces between them.

            “Yeah, elves…”

            Emma offered a quick smile.

            “If you need Shallya’s gifts, there’s a temple just on the outskirts of town. Tough as they may seem, those girls need some tending.”

            “Much obliged, though getting them there may be a difficulty.”

            The barkeep shrugged.

            “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Members of the Ubersreik Five do seem to find a way no matter what.”

            Kruber’s surprise was wasted as she rushed to the rather distressed lump of dough she’d been kneading, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded. He expected the Wardens to know of their exploits, general military moral and all that, but civilians outside Ubersreik and Helmgart seemed a stretch.

            He shook his head, there was nothing to do about it now, just had to make it back home.

            Kruber joined his companions with a sigh; the hard wood seats of the wagon were hardly doing him good. Kerillian seemed equally as relieved, her eyes were flickering lazily, and her breaths came easy. Well as easy as they could be given her injuries.

            “Tried the ale?” he prompted.

            She gave him a slow-lidded glare, like a tomcat disturbed from its afternoon nap.

            “Just as repulsive as I remember, you’ll love it.”

            Kruber needed no further prodding, taking a deep swig of the foamy beverage before him and savoring the slightly spicy hoppy taste as it slid down his gullet.

            “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

            “If you say so,” she muttered, “What do you think Aelia?”

            _So that’s her name._ Kruber thought.

            The Maiden in question was examining her drink with obvious trepidation, eyes flicking between Kruber and Kerillian in a desperate plea for help.

            Kruber reached over and took a small swig.

            “Bit hoppy, with a tinge of spice, not sure which.”

            The elf shrugged and promptly downed the whole mug, surprising both Kruber and Kerillian, who stared in awe at the sudden display of ravenous thirst. She waved over one of the servers and put up two fingers, pointing to herself and Kruber.

            “Didn’t see that coming,” muttered Kerillian.

            “Maybe its just you.” Kruber whispered.

            She shot them both a quick glare before closing her eyes and pulling her hood down low.

            It was at this time that Clive and his family decided to bustle in as well. The children rushed to the edge of the bar, eyes fixed on the lump of dough being placed into the nearby oven.

            “Can we daddy?” Abigail pleaded.

            Her brother nodded his agreement and clasped his hands together in conjunction with his sister.

            Clive looked to his wife who produced a small coin purse. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Not good. Before Kruber could reach for his purse Kerillian expertly flicked two gold crowns at the parents.

            “On me.”

            The entire family’s eyes went wide as saucers. It was probably more gold than they’d ever seen in their lives, and the Waystalker had just given it to them.

            “Miss, I don’t think we can…”

            “Consider it an advance payment, for your time.”

            The tone in Kerillian’s voice was a familiar one, one she used when delivering a final insult or point. It was commonly laced with elvish steel, and harsh as Stromdorf weather, but this time it was well meaning. Which made it all the more confounding. If the family had noted this, it didn’t seem to be that pressing, as the children’s desire for fresh bread was renewed thrice fold. Their eager voices filled the tavern, irritating some and amusing others.

             “You didn’t have to do that.” Kruber whispered.

             “No, but I’m not going to eat anything here, so might as well give it to someone who will.”

             He grinned into his mug and took another swig.

             “Speaking of someone in need, we’re going to need to get those wounds looked at.”

             Kerillian cracked open an eye.

             “They’re fine.”

             “No they’re not.”

             Aelia signed something at the Waystalker, prompting a deep scowl from Kerillian.

             “Not you too, where’s your pride?”

             The Maiden mirrored her frown, and made several gestures that made Kerillian flush.

              “Fine, damn you. Tomorrow, no earlier.”

             Kruber offered a nod of thanks and ordered another round of drinks. At least he wouldn’t be going it alone this night. He planned to be well and truly plastered by nightfall, or at least on the far side of tipsy.

             Kerillian was snoring in the corner soon enough, soft, quiet things that betrayed the true depths of her exhaustion. He doubted whether or not he’d be able to get her up the stairs without an incident involving elvish curses and a whole lot of stabbing.

             Aelia seemed to read his mind, pointing to their unconscious comrade and to herself with a thumbs up.

             “Cheers.”

 

***

 

            As it turned out, getting the grumpy Waystalker to bed was far easier than he anticipated. Emma revealed a side room off of their bedrooms containing a simple bath. Kerillian had called immediate dibs, no sooner paying an extra silver for a heated tub than she was stripping her armor and stepping into the room with palpable glee.

            Kruber turned to Aleia with a smirk.

            “Guess we wait?”

            She shook her head with a matching grin and leaned against the wall, obviously just as eager to bathe as her kin. Kruber took up position just next to her (after scooping up Kerillian’s boots and chestpiece of course).

            “You alright?” Kruber said after a time.

            Aelia turned and cocked her head to the side.

            “Those wounds didn’t look so good last we checked.”

            She waved her arms in a placating gesture, but it didn’t take much to realize she was lying. It was the slight twitch of her ears that gave it away. Kerillian did the same when she was fibbing to Saltzpyre. Though only he and Sienna seemed to notice.

            “Well, we’ll get you healed up. You’ll see. Shallya’s gift can fall on anyone… even uptight elves with a flair for snark!” He raised his voice an octave to let it travel through the door.

            “Duly noted, Markus!” Kerillian shouted back.

            He froze midway through a retort, eyes meeting Aelia’s in surprise. She’d called him that a few days before, but he thought it was the desperation talking. This was deliberate, wasn’t it?

            The Maiden had no answers, merely a nonplussed look and a raised eyebrow.

            “Bloody hell, getting too old for this.”

            The rest of their time was spent in silence, an easy feat given his current companion’s state of being. The only sounds he did hear were the racous laughter from down below, and the occasional sigh of content from the other side of the door. Eventually the Waystalker found her way out, toweling off her shoulder length mop of hair, now free from mud, blood, and sweat of course. She’d retied her mask and tunic of course, but her breeches and armor pieces she left at the foot of the door in a small basket.

            “Extra silver for laundering. Can’t vouch for the quality, but its something.”

            She set a hand on Kruber’s shoulder as she collected her boots.

            “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but good night, and sweet dreams, mayfly.”

            Maybe he was crazy, but he could have sworn her lips brushed against his cheek before she entered her assigned room and shut the door.

            Kruber’s brow furrowed in utter confusion. He was no scholar or paragon of love, but she was definitely acting strange compared to her usual self, more… touchy feely, to put it delicately. Maybe those dreams affected her in more ways than one, or it was the several near death experiences in the past few days.

            Whatever the case, he knew one thing for sure: he still didn’t understand the nature of women, much less elves.

            The sound of the bath door closing told him everything he needed to know about Aelia’s opinion.

            _Taal give me strength…_


	5. Chapter 5

            Kerillian groaned as a beam of light stabbed her eyes like daggers. It seemed that the overcast sky had decided to bugger off to greener pastures.

            “Lovely…”

            She rolled on her unwounded side to find Aelia leaning against the wall, glaive held casually in the crook of her elbow. The Maiden’s gaze swept to Kerillian, offering a polite nod as acknowledgement.

            “Sleep well?”

            Aeila sighed.

            **_No._**

“Too many mayflies for comfort? I know the feeling.”

            Aelia brought her hands up to sign, but frowned, before signing.

            **_Yes._**

Kerillian opened her mouth to speak, but something metallic clanked against the dark oak door.

            “You two decent?” Kruber shouted.

            The Waystalker looked down to her semi clothed form and drew the blanket up to her neck. Aelia shook her head in amusement as she opened the door. Kerillian closed her eyes, quite content to let the other woman ‘speak’ to her human ally and enjoy a nice morning of sleeping in.

            “Its midmorning Kerillian, might want to get dressed!”

            She groaned into her pillow.

            “If only I had my pants!”

            Kruber thrust his arm through the open door, breeches in hand.

            “Mayfly’s…”

            Kerillian slowly shifted out of bed and trudged over to the door, snatching the breeches with a fierce glare. Kruber flinched back an inch, before clearing his throat and straightening his newly cleaned shirt.

            “The Priestess of Shallya only takes in the sick till mid afternoon. We need to move now if you want to get healed up.”

            She sighed.

            “Fine, a moment Markus.”

            The Mercenary locked eyes with her, a question forming on his lips. He seemed to consider speaking it aloud, but shook his head and left the open doorway. Kerillian turned to Aelia with an exasperated smirk as she pulled the freshly laundered pants over her legs.

            Aelia tugged at her tunic.

            **_I saw what you did last night._**

Kerillian finished tying her pants and started in on her chestpiece.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            The Handmaiden scoffed.

            **_Fine then, just,_** she balled her hands into fists, ** _be careful Kerillian_**

            This was enough to freeze the Waystalker in her work.

            “What are you talking about?”

            Aelia’s fingers twitched as her brow scrunched up.

            **_They’re fleeting, humans. They live full lives in the blink of an eye. What is a moment for us is a lifetime for them. He’s what? Forty? Fifty?_**

            “Thirty eight,” Kerillian snapped.

            She blinked, surprised at not only her temper, but the speed and passion at which she defended the man. The point still stood though. He was middle aged for a human and she was…

            Functionally immortal.

            Kerillian rubbed her eyes. Everything she’d gone through, all the fighting, wounds, terror, and yes, joy she’d gone through with these people. She couldn’t ignore that fact. And Markus…

            Aelia tapped her shoulder.

            **_Just be careful Kerillian, I’ve seen many of our kind… fall into this trap. Its sweet, but brief, and the grief that follows is harder to move past than you might expect._**

            “Who was it?”

            The Maiden’s mouth twitched in irritation.

            “Who did you lose?”

            Aelia sighed and gestured to the door.

            **_Walk and talk._**

The two elves made their way to the main floor in silence. Renald and Abagail smiled, mouths full of food, and far cleaner than they had been the previous day. Even Clive managed a respectful nod as they passed. Kerillian dug out an extra coin and tossed it to the family.

            Markus stood at the door, arms crossed and foot tapping an inconsistent beat against the wooden floor.

            “Bout bloody time, gods you two sleep in late.”

            “Like you when you’ve had a good night of drinking?”

            He raised his hands in acquiescence as they marched out of the tavern. She let Kruber get ahead just a hair to provide her and Aelia some breathing room.

            “You were saying?” Kerillian whispered.

            **_I lost a friend, a sister since childhood. And she fell in love with one of them_** , she gestured to Kruber with a casual flick of the wrist, **_but he fell in battle and she… grew morose, still, until she was but a shell of the woman I knew. We feel it when they die Kerillian, more than they can possibly imagine, and when they pass… it burns like drake fire, and it burns hard._**

            Aelia gripped Kerillian’s arm tight.

            **_Be mindful, and if you continue, just be prepared._**

            “I will.”

            “Will what?”

            Markus stood barely a few meters ahead of them, an impatient scowl set onto his brow.

            “Nothing.”

            The Mercenary shook his head and trudged down the muddy path, elves in tow. Now that they weren’t deep in conversation, Kerillian could see the townsfolk watching them out of the corner of her eye. Gruff looking men standing with suspicious scowls, women clutching their children to their sides with barely disguised fear and disgust.

            Kerillian shook her head in mild amusement. These humans thought her a threat? Truly? If only they knew what was just outside their sight, in the weave, and in the fields of their kin.

            The trio exited the township and followed Kruber onto a trailhead. Autumn had well and truly fallen on the Reikland, the leaves were falling around them, orange, red, even bright yellow. Kerillian smiled under her mask, Athel Loren didn’t get much weather outside of perpetual spring; so this was a rarity. Leaves crunched underfoot as they made their way to a small cobblestone building, humble and unostentatious in nature, contrary to what Kerillian would have thought to be standard for an Imperial temple.

            Markus rapped his knuckles on the door twice. Kerillian eyed Aeila with a raised brow. Her kin merely shrugged and straightened up, no doubt doing her best to appear uninjured.

            Kerillian appreciated the sentiment, but not getting proper treatment was foolish in their line of work. She despised it when Saltzpyre was the one to do the work, but it was better than continuing on with a chunk of metal stuck in her side.

            The door opened to reveal a matronly woman in white robes, and curiously, a red woolen shawl draped across her shoulders. Kerillian didn’t know mayfly age well, but she reckoned the woman was likely approaching eighty.

            “May I help you?” The woman croaked.

            Kruber’s jaw clicked back into place.

            “Er, well ma’am, we’re looking for the priestess of Shallya that maintains the temple?”

            “I am she.”

            Aelia and Markus shared a nervous glance. Kerillian was grinning from ear to ear in silent amusement. She’d seen her fair share of old medicine men and women in her time.

            The woman shifted her gaze to the two elves. Instead of shying away, or cursing them out, she approached. Her gait was wobbly, but her eyes were as clear as blue sky.

            “Arms up dearie.”

            Kerillian obliged, wincing slightly as she shifted too quick.

            The woman pressed against her ribs, finding each injury in little time before moving onto Aeila, who stood ramrod stiff as the healer pawed around the cut in her side.

            “There’s a cot inside. You can rest there.”

            Kerillian gave Markus a nod and moved in.

            “Not you, just the two of them.”

            “Isn’t there room?”

            “Yes, but only for the sick and injured. You may wait out here if you like.”

            Kerillian caught the sound of his greaves ruffling through his hair.

            “Well er, how long is this gonna take?”

            “As long as it needs to.”

            Aeila passed Kerillian and took a seat.

            “If you have to be somewhere then by all means go about your business. Otherwise remain here.”

            The old woman entered the building with a small sigh, turning to her patents with a small smile.

            “Now then, what have you two gotten yourself into?”

            Aeila looked to Kerillian expectedly.

            “Had a bit of a scrap with some savages. They’re worse off than us.”

            “I see.”

            Her words were laced with the tone a mother would take when she knew her children weren’t being entirely truthful. But she didn’t pry as she prepared a kettle over the hearth.

            “Two elves, one with three bruised ribs and a single broken one, the other bearing a gash clearly made by an instrument of war. Well outfitted bandits if I do say so myself.”

            Kerillian scoffed.

            “More like lucky.”

            The woman presented the two of them with clean robes and exited through a nearby door.

            “Undress, I’ll be back.”

            The elves shared a look, before shrugging and doing as they were bid. Kerillian was the first to slip the mayfly garment. It was itchier than she anticipated, and less warm than she would have liked, but it would serve for whatever the old woman had in mind.

            She caught several twisting scars along Aeila’s back, they were starting to fade, but they bore the unmistakable signs of a whip. Kerillian had heard of the Ulthuani’s severity when it came to punishment, but this seemed a touch extreme.

            Before she could comment the old woman was bustling into the small living space, linens and candles in hand.

            “Right then, pour the water would you love? Pot’s just over there.”

            Aelia was quick to act. Kerillian watched in mild fascination at the Handmaiden deftly poured an even amount in each cup without spilling a drop. Her hands were quick to sprinkle a few pinches of sugar into each before she handed one to Kerillian and the other for their host.

            “Hold these.”

            Kerillian barely had time to adjust her drink before the wax cylinders were dropped into her arms.

            “Sit, drink, I’ll do the rest.”

            The two elves obliged, sipping the bitter liquid with as much appreciation they could muster. Aelia herself looked ready to spit it out, but to her credit she downed it quickly. Kerillian preferred to just sip and watch as the old woman busied herself with the candles and prayer book.

            “Have another.”

            Before Aeila could protest her cup was already filled. The Maiden’s eyes searched for Kerillian’s, but she was busy trying not to snicker behind her cup.

            “This is medicine yes?”

            “No, just tea.”

            Kerillian and Aeila met each other’s gaze, twin looks of amusement and regret on their features.

            The old woman remained oblivious to this as she lit the candles, illuminating a finely painted image of a dove carrying a key in its claws. Kerillian’s eyes widened as she took in the thin layer of gold outlining the dove, and the twin sapphires set in place of its eyes. She reaffixed her attention to the priestess, who was in the process of laying Aelia on her back. She turned to Kerillian and offered her hand.

            She must have sensed her hesitation, and doubt. What good are mayfly gods I they barely have the time to offer support when its needed most?

            Kerillian felt a gentle, but firm, hand grip her shoulder and turn her to face the priestess.

            “She accepts all in need, regardless of creed or race.”

            With this she lowered the Waystalker to the ground and moved between the two women. Her hands came to rest on Kerillian and Aelia’s wounds. She hissed in pain, but the old woman remained still and unmoving.

            “Shallya, come forth and heal these wounded souls, reknit the flesh, bone, and sinew, ward them against whatever evil power’s may descend upon them. Shallya, we ask this in your name, come forth.”

            All that passed was the air through each woman’s lips, and the uncomfortable silence of Kerillian’s suspicions proven right. She moved to sit, but found the pressure on her side increase, like the full weight of a Chaos Knight was set squarely on that point. Yet it didn’t hurt as she would have expected. Instead it burned, like Sienna’s battlefield ministrations.

            “Asha’s breath!” Kerillian cursed.           

            The candles went dark.

            “Wh-what the?”

            Light, blinding light stabbed into Kerillian’s eyes, forcing a yelp of pain from her lips as she struggled to cover them, close them, anything, but her body refused to react, save to stare at the now illuminated visage of the dove just above her head. Its sapphire eyes bore into her soul, pushing liquid fire through her veins. Her lips were frozen in a silent scream, her voice caught in her throat, Goddess how she wanted to curse this woman.

            Just as soon as it begun, it ended. Candles relit, the light withdrew, and Kerillian flung herself from the priestess’s side, clutching her side.

            “What was that?!” Kerillian shouted, “Some mayfly interpretation of healing?”

            The woman chuckled and stretched her muscles.

            “No, but ill admit that was a bit more than I was expecting.”

            The Waystalker scoffed.

            “Aelia, can you believe this?”

            The Handmaiden was staring in awe at her stomach, devoid of injury or scar tissue. She glanced at Kerillian before tearing the shift from her body and pawing at her back.

            Kerillian rushed to her kin’s side, setting a hand where the whip scars would have been.

            “They’re gone.”

            Aelia rounded on Kerillian with a wide smile and ensnared the Waystalker with a gigantic hug that would have most certainly pulverized her once broken ribs. The Maiden’s shoulders shook in silent mirth, which shifted to uncontrolled tears. Her fingers dug into Kerillian’s back as she tightened the embrace, as if to reassure herself that the Waystalker was indeed real.

            “H-hey, what’s this about?”

`            Aelia pulled away.

            **_We’re okay. It worked, by Isha it worked! I-I had little hope it would._**

With her energy sapped, the Maiden slumped against Kerillian’s form. She shivered, rubbing her forearms in a vain attempt at warming herself.

            “Aye, we’re alright. Now put some clothes on for Isha’s sake. Were in a mayfly town after all. No telling what kind of scandal we’ve already gotten ourselves into by just being here.”

            Aelia let out a small chuckle and accepted her clothes as they were handed to her. The Priestess pressed new cups of tea into their hands, informing them in no uncertain terms, that rest was needed after such a miracle.

            Kerillian wanted to argue, but even she had to admit that what little strength she’d had was used in bringing herself here. The tea was far less strong, bitter, but with a hint of sweetness. Honey perhaps?

            Whatever it was, she welcomed it as an autumn chill seeped into the building. Kerillian slipped on her breeches and tunic and wrapped her forest green cloak around her shoulders. She wasn’t keen on going anywhere if she could help it. Aelia was fast asleep, snoring softly into the cot.

            The Waystalker let her lids close for but a moment, then all went black.

 

***

 

            Screams, wood smoke, curses in Northlander tongue.

            Kerillian’s eyes snapped open. Aelia was already at her feet, back to the wall of the temple, scanning the darkness. Firelight played off her eyes like sparks in a forge. She fixed her steely gaze onto Kerillian and smirked.

            **_Trouble, you ready?_**

            “Oh yes, I think I’m owed a little payback.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, over 1000 hits with just four chapters? I'm truly thankful for all the support and kind works you guys have sent my way, it really means a lot to me.
> 
> Apologies for the delay in this chapter, just got back into my internship and i've had a whole slew of work to do since then. Hope you like this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. And don't worry, the action picks right where this leaves off, so stay tuned! Hopefully i'll get it done in a decent time frame this time XD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one took a while I know, but I hope it was worth the wait.  
> I decided to make this one a little bit longer than normal, so I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Thanks again for sticking around and reading/commenting/giving kudos/bookmarking this little indulgence of mine. I'm secretly hoping Fatshark will confirm this ship eventually

           The elves slipped into the night without incident. From what Kerillian could glean, the fire had started near the main road and had spread to the northern edge of the village, a scant thirty meters from their current location. She made out Aeila’s form easy, her heightened sight giving her more than a fair advantage in the dark, much less low light.

            The Maiden jerked her head towards the back of an untouched building. Kerillian followed, keeping low as they sidled up to the back door, either woman on each side. Aelia counted down from three on her fingers before silently pushing the door open and slipping in. Kerillian followed, relying on her kin’s lead to gauge her next move. The Elves watched as several large shapes crossed in front of the shop; misshapen, stumbling, and smelling of rot.

            “We need to get to our weapons. Find Kruber at the least. Where is he?”

            Aelia brought up her fist in a silencing gesture and pointed to a huddled group in the alley across from them. Kerillian squinted against the glare of the fire, which colored everything an orange hue and elongated the shadows into twisted nightmarish things more akin to twisted spires or jagged peaks. Even with her superior eyesight there was very little she could make out.

            “I see them, what of it?”

            The Maiden made a simple cutting gesture with her hand, indicating that one of the figures bore a sword.

            Kerillian nodded her assent and took point at the door, fingers curling around the latch in grim anticipation. If they missed their mark, they could get caught out in the open, surrounded by raving rotbloods with an axe to grind. But if they didn’t move soon they could miss the opportunity to join up with people in the alley.

            “If they spot you, just run. We’ll move as a group to the tavern.”

            Aeila nodded.

            “Go!”

            They eased the door open and slid into the shadows. She spotted at least fifteen of the northlanders corralling a silent group of civilians towards the central plaza. Kerillian felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt as they snuck past them. Whatever the rotbloods had in mind, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Then again, if they managed to form a competent resistance casualties could be limited.

            _Ugh, what’s wrong with me? They’re just humans… they’d have died some other way._ She chastised herself.

 ** _Kruber is human._** Came the obvious response.

She cursed the traitorous thoughts; they did nothing to improve her current situation, yet they wouldn’t stop. They all focused on that man, that stubborn, impossible man who defied all she knew about humanity.

            Aeila’s hand gripped the front of her tunic and pulled her behind a nearby cart, just narrowly avoiding a rotblood scout rushing to the south end of town. The Maiden’s face was drawn into a fierce scowl.

            **_Focus dammit,_** she signed ** _, we don’t have time for you to start losing your head, not after we just got healed up._**

“Just lead the way,” Kerillian hissed.

            The peasants whispered amongst themselves as the elves joined them

            “Its them,” one woman whispered.

            Kerillian quickly sized up the man with the sword. He looked to be about twenty, though the shakiness of his hand indicated he was less than confident in his skills. Frankly it was a miracle that he’d managed to keep these people alive.

            “Come with us, we’re headed to the tavern.”

            “No thanks, we’ve just been there. Damn thing’s burned to the ground.”

            Kerillian felt as if a shard of ice had just inched its way into her heart.

            “What happened to the people inside? Kruber? The soldier?”

            The young man screwed up his face in exasperation.

            “I dunno! We ran! Them northlanders were all over us, we had to get out of there.”

            “So you left the others to die? Civilians? The other guards?!” Kerillian pressed her arm against his throat and pinned him to the wall. “Coward, fool!”

            Kerillian felt an iron grip snake around her forearm and yank her away from the guard. She saw a flash of gold as Aelia’s helmed visage settled mere inches from her face.

            **_Enough! He’s either dead or alive; all that matters is getting weapons and fighting off these bastards. Shouting at these mayflies gets us nowhere._**

            The wood elf looked to the ground, cheeks burning in barely suppressed rage and embarrassment. Aelia was right; this served nothing but to waste time.

            “Give me your blade boy, and head for the road. We’ll handle the rest.”

            “No way, need this for defense!”

            Kerillian looked up from the ground, fixing him with the coldest glare she could muster.

            “Let me put it another way, you’re going to give me that sword so I can do the job you clearly cannot.”

            The guard looked between her and Aelia, righteous fury knitting his brow. Kerillian watched in amusement as he seriously considered attacking her. Before he could she interposed herself into his space and tripped him up, easily scooping up the sword without thought.

            “Now then-”

            “She-Elf!”

            Kerillian bit back an elven curse as she turned to face the rather distressing horde of rotblood’s in the entrance of the alley.

            “Come on then, I’m tired of all this sneaking around!”

            The wood-elf brought her blade down on the first man, surprising even herself at the ferocity behind it. She didn’t let him recover from the first blow, using both hands for the next. Her first target was easily cleft in two, while the others stood in silence as she brought the blade to bear on another. His head fell to the brickwork in short order, followed by his halberd.

            “Aelia, now!”

            The handmaiden was already at her side, striking at the mob with practiced ease. Kerillian swiped a fallen dagger and began the fight in earnest.

            “Go you idiots!” Kerillian shouted over her shoulder, “Its now or never!”

            She didn’t stop to see if the humans paid her any mind. There was nothing more important that the savages in front of her. She would make them hurt, for every soul they’d sent to Slaanesh, for the pain they’d caused her on this damned ‘adventure’. She would make them pay.

           

***

 

            Kruber cursed under his breath as he strung Kerillian’s bow. The few arrows she managed to craft were in short supply, so he’d have to make them count.

            He turned to Clive and the rest of the family, huddled in the corner of the apothecaries shop. He’d managed to snag them and the elves weapons on their way out of the tavern; unfortunately he’d twisted his ankle on the way down. It wasn’t sprained, but it hurt enough to slow him.

            “Taal, grant me speed and strength to defeat my enemies and drive them from this blessed place,” he whispered.

            Kruber tested the draw weight of Kerillian’s longbow and was astonished at how much effort was required to do so. It nearly took all of his strength to draw it to his ear. So he’d have to be selective about his targets, and make sure he wasn’t in the same place twice.

            “Stay here, and keep quiet, I’ll look for the girls.”

            “Good luck Ser.”

            Kruber climbed the stairs to the healer’s living quarters. There was a balcony overseeing the plaza where the others were being sequestered. The firelight was playing hell with his eyesight, which was only fair in the best of times. He could barely make out the northlander’s silhouettes in the light.

            “Taal, mask my scent, bless my aim.”

            He drew the arrow back to his ear and held his breath, eyes tracking a two-man patrol just passing the balcony. With a casual flick of his fingers, the arrow was loosed.

            The rotblood flinched as the arrow took its toll. He drew the next arrow as quick as he could, though it didn’t take long for the barbarian to figure out where the painful barbs were coming from. The Northlander ducked beneath the second with ease, rushing towards the alley exit screaming at the top of his lungs.

            “ _Filthy empire dogs! Rotfather take you!_ ”

            His shouts echoed through the alley and into open air. Kruber finished him quick, but he didn’t like the odds of the other hearing him. The mercenary braced himself and leapt from the balcony, rolling with his shoulder as best he could. His ankle screamed in protest, but he had to grit and bear it as he rushed from the alley and into open air.

            The Northlander’s were charging towards him, at least five in number. He loosed two arrows at the leaders; both deflected with a practiced ease he hadn’t expected.

            “Shit, over ‘ere you moldy bastards!”

            A hastily tossed javelin was the prompt response.

            “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

            Kruber limped across the thoroughfare. The ever-increasing number of metal boots clanking behind him closed the distance almost instantly.

            “To hell with this!”

            Kruber slung the bow over his shoulder and drew the Maiden’s Glaive. He struck, opening the first rotblood’s stomach and sending him sprawling. The mercenary covered his mouth as the foul odor drifted up from the cobbles.

            He counted at least twelve berserkers, ten-foot soldiers, and two rothelm’s coming up behind the first group. He cursed his luck and started backpedaling, deflecting as many of their strikes as possible. If he could just make it to the Shallyan temple he might be able to get the elves help, or at least ensure their safety.

            Provided he could shake his pursuers that is…

            Kruber weaved between two upturned carts and felt the edge of a blade dig into his gambeson. Too close for comfort. He summoned what little energy he had to break out in a full sprint, wincing as his twisted ankle connected with every step.

            “You can’t run forever!”

            His lungs started to burn in tandem with his knees, sweat dripped down his brow as he struggled to deflect their hits and run at the same time. He managed to clip one of the buggers, though not without embedding the glaive in the man’s leg. All he had left was the Skaven blade.

Kruber gasped as one of the brutes delivered a kick to his chest, forcing the air from his lungs as he collapsed in a heap. For all his posturing to the others, age had finally crept up on him, seeping into his bones like cobwebs in an old house. Ten years as a soldier was hardly easy on the body, much less the drink that accompanied it.

            A sound not unlike rolling thunder filled the air as a building not ten feet from his position went up in flames. White-hot shrapnel whizzed through the air around him, forcing him to the deck. The rotbloods were not so quick of mind as bits of flesh and gore spattering to the cobblestones attested.

            Kruber rushed to his feet, eyes scanning for the nearest alley. By his estimate, he was about ten minutes from the Shallyan temple.

            “C’mon you bastards!”

            Kerillian’s voice was unmistakable; that Loren Brogue wasn’t one he was likely to miss. But the tone of her voice was far more worrying than the words she was screeching, because she was _screeching_ them, as if they were an extension of her rage.

            A quick look to his pursuers revealed that the majority of them were too far-gone to be any trouble. He didn’t doubt they would rise soon enough though; the followers of Nurgle were nothing if not resilient.

            So he rushed to the elf’s ragged voice, finding a startling amount of northlanders crowding a nearby alley. At least ten lay dead behind their rearmost troops, missing heads, arms, and even legs in some cases.

            Kruber slunk foreword, scooping up a meager looking shield and clinking his blade against it. Two of the more perceptive lot turned just in time to have their guts skewered.

            “Kerillian! I’m here!”

            The rest of the rear guard about faced, all deciding right then and there that a regular man was a better target than the elves. Unfortunately, they didn’t anticipate the ferocity at which their new quarry would attack. Kruber went into his familiar stance, drilled into him since his early days in the army. Each action he took flowed into the other: block, push, stab, withdraw, parry, overhead strike, block, again!

            His foes were clearly regretting their hasty decision as he disemboweled a fifth man, grinning into the eyes of the nearest foe.

            “Give me your best shot!”

            The northanders muttered a few curses in their savage tongue and attacked as one, each blow rocking his shield arm with a distressing amount of force. Flecks of wood and cheap steel flew from the shield as he struggled to regain his footing.

            Whatever his plan had been, this was the end of it. He’d gone and kicked the plague infested hornets nest now, and he needed an edge. Casting about, he could just make out the still flaming pieces of debris from the explosion and scooped up a flaming branch in lieu of his shield. It wasn’t doing much good for him anyway.

            Kruber snarled at the incoming rotblood to his left and swung the flaming debris at the man’s head. The impact sent shivers up his arm, but the resulting scream as the flames took hold was music to his ears. He came in low with the blade, piercing the man’s heart. Sensing their opening, his fellows charged.

            The mercenary deflected their hits with the upright corpse of their ally. He grunted as he shifted the dead weight to their side. Kruber struck hard, finishing the others with little effort.

            It was only then he recognized the rather large shape charging his location, great axe in hand.

            “ _Rotfather!I_ ”

            Kruber just managed to roll out of the way of the strike, though not without tweaking his throbbing ankle. A lance of fire rocked its way up his leg as he struggled to stand. He nearly choked on the scent of sewage water and the foulest of carrion emanating from the corrupted knight.

            “Your time is up,” said the knight as he tore the great axe from the cobbles, showering Kruber with shale and loam.

            Try as he might, Kruber couldn’t stand. His ankle was screaming in protest. He was pretty sure it was starting to swell after all the punishment he’d put it through.

           “Ah, out of energy then? Good. Makes your struggling all the more pleasing.”

           The knight’s boot came down on his injured leg, forcing a pained grunt from Kruber’s lips. He struck at the rotblood’s knee three times, feeling all hope fade as the cheap rat-man weapon broke at the hilt, its dull edge barely scratching the plate.

           A deep throaty laugh bellowed from the man’s lungs as he lifted Kruber from the ground. The mercenary struggled against him, bashing his helm with all his might, only managing to dent the front.

           “Unfortunate really.”

           His struggling almost ceased entirely as the grip around his throat constricted tighter and tighter. Darkness ate away at the corners of vision. His breathing became a trickle.

           “Goodbye, whelp.”

            The iron like vise abruptly released Kruber like a sack of grain. He pawed at his throat drawing in greedy lungfuls of air.

            He struggled to stand, only to find a pair of gentle hands force him to remain still. Aelia pointed towards the knight, who was being systematically taken apart by the familiar blur that was Kerillian.

            He could tell she wasn’t being her graceful self. No, this was brutal efficiency. She laughed with every strike, driving the captured sword in deep. When she could no longer pull it out, she scooped up a fallen spear and drove it into his left knee. The Rotblood’s scream of anguish sent goosepimples up Kruber’s arms.

The corrupted knight was shaking now, his frame struggling to hold his massive weight. Kerillian wasn’t finished; she snapped the haft of the spear off with a twitch and thrust the other end into his chest.

            “No one touches him! You hear me!?”

            Kruber blanched at the pure unfettered venom dripping from her voice. She couldn’t have been talking about him could she?

            The knight surprisingly managed a burblely chuckle.

            “Your threats don’t frighten me, or my brethren Elf Witch. The Rotfather will consume all.”

            Kerillian knocked the man’s helm from his head with the butt of a dagger. The blade flashed like quicksilver in the dying firelight, followed by a spurt of brackish blood.

            “Look around you! Look at what three of us can do. Imagine what the full fury of elf, man, and dwarf will do to your pitiful invasion! Your god is impotent, scunner!”

            The knight’s sneer vanished as he took in the destruction around him. His rotted flesh looked particularly pallid in the dim light. Kerillian on the other hand was more akin to a wraith: hood drawn, pale skin tinged red with blood and firelight, black eyes glittering like onyx in a creek.

            “You will die alone witch, and you will rue the day you spurned the rotfather’s blessing when the Dark Prince—”

            Barely a flash and the dagger was embedded in the unfortunate knight’s eye socket. She twisted and tugged, kicking the knight to the ground with a resounding thud. Kruber watched in mute shock as Kerillian began stabbing, a ragged scream burrowing its way out of her throat and rising with every passing moment.

            Kruber struggled out of Aelia’s grasp and hurried to the Waystalker’s side, or hobbled more like.

            “Kerillian! Its over! You can stop!”

            She didn’t respond. All her attention was focused on her quarry. Every flash of blade was met with a sickening crunch as she drove it deeper and deeper into the man’s flesh. Blood coated her from the forearms down, all semblance of propriety and poise was gone from the woman as she kept bringing the blade down.

            Kruber was close enough to hear a strangled sob between the strikes.

He reached out a shaky hand and let it rest on her shoulder.

            The response was immediate. She had him on his back, dagger point an inch from his throat. Her eyes brimmed with tears, pattering against his cheeks in a steady stream.

            “Markus…” she whispered.

            He felt his heart seize in his chest. Whatever the woman was: stubborn, elitist, and yes, even cruel at times, she had her breaking point, and this was it.

            Kruber reached up and traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the still falling tears. Her hands cast aside the dagger and roughly brought him to a sitting position. He took note of her refusal to make eye contact as she checked him for injury.

            “You’re hurt, where is it?” She snapped.

            “Kerillian…”

            “Where?! Can’t have you dying on me mid battle.”

            Her hand came to rest on his ankle.

            “There, Aelia, come help!”

            The maiden remained still, making a few gestures at the wood elf and promptly staking off to the nearby alley.

            “Bloody woman!” Kerillian snarled, tearing at Kruber’s laces with an increased frenzy.

            “Kerillian! Dammit stop, you’ll make it worse!”

            Kruber ensnared her fingers with his, squeezing enough to catch her attention. She trembled, whether by his touch or the tears he couldn’t tell.

            “Its alright, its over now…”

            “Not yet…” she muttered, eyes downcast, “they’re still here.”

The seething hatred she’d displayed earlier was still there, albeit muted. Not knowing what else to do, Kruber cupped her chin and brought her eyes to meet his.

            “What’re all the tears for love? Crying for a mayfly that’s on his way out? Hardly befitting a wood elf right?”

            Kerillian let out a choked chuckle before burying her face into his chest. Her hands fisted the gambeson with so much force he thought it might tear. She was shaking in his arms. This Waystalker, who’d faced countless hordes of rat men, northlanders, and Taal knew what else in her time was sobbing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and threaded his fingers through her hair.

            “I’m here, not going anywhere.”

            And so they sat, one quietly sobbing, the other offering quiet assurances and threading his fingers through silk soft hair.

            In time she started to sing in elvish, a sweet, quiet tune he remembered hearing in the keep late one evening. It listed, drifting through the air like leaves on a lazy breeze. Kruber closed his eyes and found himself imagining his home, the farmhouse where he grew up.

            But standing on the porch, was Kerillian, hair untied from her usual ponytail, flowing down mid way to her back. The customary leather and bark armor pieces were gone, replaced by a simple moss green tunic and a slightly lighter green dress that just barely brushed the floor. She turned to face him, granting him a look at her face. Her once hard eyes were soft and kind, a lazy smile dancing across her lips as she called out to him.

            He snapped out of the dream, vision, whatever it was as soon as the singing ended. She followed suit, leaving his embrace to look him in the eye.

            “Promise me something Markus.”

            “What?”

            The elf cupped his cheek, onyx eyes betraying the hurt and regret in her eyes as she uttered four simple words.

            “Don’t die on me.”

            Kruber blinked.

            “I don’t know if I can do that… with our line of work its—”

            “Just say it… please?”

            He sighed and ensnared her hand in his.

            “I promise.”

            Kerillian smiled wide enough to peek out from behind the mask. What little he could see of it was radiant. Before he knew it she was closing the distance and pressing her lips to his in a deep kiss, one that spoke of desperation, relief, and terror all at once as her arms came to rest on his shoulders. Her lips were chapped and rough, but altogether pleasant as they pressed together. Kruber reciprocated as best he could, though he couldn’t attest to the quality of it, having been out of practice for quite some time.

            The thought of his wife brought back bitter memories, one’s filled with drink and sorrow. Yet, in that time he’d met a certain witch hunter, and the strange collection of miscreants that followed in his wake.

            He could say without a shadow of a doubt that though the last eight months had been filled with peril and strife, they’d also been some of the most fulfilling in his life. They were _doing_ something, fighting back. Mira would be proud.

            _Sigmar, guard her soul, Rhya, grant her peace._

Kruber wasn’t sure what his gods would think of Kerillian, but he knew what Saltzpyre would say if he could see them now.

            “Can ‘ardly believe it, she did this?” A voice called out.

            The Mercenary snapped his attention to the newcomer, a young man in the uniform of a guard. His attention was fixed on the downed knight, a figure twice the lad’s size.

            Kruber returned his attention to Kerillian, noticeably watchful of the returning civilians. That smile from before was gone, as if it, and the act soon after had never happened. He cleared his throat.

            “Yeah, she’s good at her job.”

            “Wait,” the guard said, “you the bloke she mentioned earlier?”

            Kruber shrugged.

            “If she mentioned a ‘mayfly with aim like a newborn’ then yeah.”

            He felt a small chuckle from his side as Kerillian started worrying away at his bootlaces.

            “She was practically mad when we ran into her, looking for you, she was.”

            Kruber returned his attention to the elf. She shrugged.

            “Chaos around us, you nowhere in sight. What was I supposed to do? Just move on?”

            There was no trace of snark or deadpan in her voice as she sat herself up, just sincerity. Her fingers were idly retying the laces of his tunic back in place.

            “You could have, if you wanted to.”

            “Never.”

            Her response was swift, and if it weren’t for what just happened he might not have believed her. Kruber searched the crowd and met Aelia’s gaze for confirmation. The maiden offered a rare smile and a nod, directing it at Kerillian for good measure, who returned her attention to Kruber’s injured ankle.

            “Now c’mon mayfly, get this thing off so we can take a look at it.”

            “Right, we still have a city to save…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you with eagle eyes, you'll recognize the line about Kerillian singing from a more recent patch, found here in the patch notes: http://www.vermintide.com/news/patch-1-0-8/ (under sound)
> 
> Also i decided to give Kruber's wife the name Mira because it sounded sweet, but simple. Nothing too fancy, but then again she didn't need to be. She was perfect for him.


	7. Mondstille Day (Christmas Special Chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the month of no activity, but I've been pretty busy. This isn't quite the next chapter, but I wanted to do something for Christmas, and what better way to do that then to show our two love birds in a happier time, around Mondstille Day?
> 
> Those with eagle eyes will catch several lore references in this chapter,
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, and look forward to the next chapter, which is coming soon, I guarantee it!

Kerillian hissed, sucking in a quick burst of air as the bandage fell loose. A chill breeze numbed her fingers and cast the gauze far from her, into the warpstone portal room. She heaved a long suffering sigh and turned to collect it, only to find Kruber gathering the wrap.

“Lose this?”

The elf smirked under her mask and strutted to the mercenary’s side, plucking the gauze from between his fingers in a flash.

“Quite.”

She resumed her wrapping, only to fumble the attempt and drop it once more. Kerillian cursed and bent at the waist, hissing again as her bruised ribs flared.

“Here, let me.”

Kruber set a hand on the small of her back, sending a thrill of excitement through her system as he bent down and scooped up the linen.

Not for the first time, the elf was grateful for her facemask as a flush crept up her cheeks. His ministrations were surprisingly light, gentler than the battlefield medicine they’d performed on one another in times past.

“There, better?”

Kerillian rubbed the injury, residual warmth still tingling on the inside of her wrist.

“It’s… competent.”

_Smooth…_

Kruber quirked a brow, barely contained mirth threatening a smirk.

“I’ll take it,” he chuckled.

“Oi! Azumgi, lend a hand would you?”

Both human and elf turned about, finding a struggling dwarf and a rather perturbed looking witch hunter struggling under the weight of a heavy collection of knick knacks Kerillian could only describe as eclectic, for an Altdorf noble with far too many family heirlooms cluttering up the attic. Pelts of all kinds, wolf, sheep, and even wildcat if her eyes and nose didn’t deceive her, and to top it all off, a Skaven skull.

“What’s all this about?” Kerillian muttered.

“Mondstille Day,” Kruber said immediately, as if she were supposed to know what that meant.

Her silence prompted elaboration. As she was quick to learn, Mondstille was a mayfly holiday centered around the winter solstice. A bonfire was the central theme, that and pelts.

“I see…”

A familiar scent of scorched hair filled their nostrils as Sienna strode past, a wide grin stretched ear to ear.

“Oh dear…”

Kerillian snorted in response.

“Have fun then,” she said, patting his arm and making her way to her tree.

Before she could make her exit however Kruber’s voice called out, “You could join in ya know! Don’t have to spend all your nights alone.”

She froze at the door, eyes fixed firmly on the bandage he’d set.

“I’m fine Markus… enjoy yourselves.”

Without a backwards glance she made her way to her lean-to, taking in the crisp evening air with barely suppressed relish. Gods how she loved WInter. Growing up in Athel Loren, where it was ever spring meant she didn't get to see snow very often. And it was everywhere, covering the training yard in a sheet of unbroken white that deadened every sound.

She paused mid way through disrobing as her last words to the mercenary came back to her. She’d used his first name. Not mayfly, or lumberfoot. Markus. Kerillian felt out his name with her lips, marveling at how amazing it felt.

“Markus, Mark-oos,” she smirked, slipping on her fur lined tunic with a pleased air.

Her wrist twinged. The tunic’s sleeve caught the edge of the wrap.

The elf rubbed the gauze again, a faint impression of touch still lingering. Kerillian didn’t know how long she stared, but by the time she looked up the air was positively freezing and night had fallen.

“Dammit, lost it again.”

She hated losing time, but such was one of the many curses facing her people.

Raucous laughter drifted into her little courtyard. Fueled no doubt by a hearty supply of ale.  A twinge of longing settled into her chest, just a subtle tug, directing her towards the central hall. Kerillian did her best to ignore it.

She turned to her blades, letting herself fall into the simple routine of maintenance drilled into her since youth. With this, her mind started to wander. Wander back to the forest of Athel Yulani, to the fate of her High Elf cousins.

She let her fingers drift to the small waystone about her neck. It should be enough to carry her soul.

Should…

Kerillian paused to inspect her handiwork. The elf hefted it once and chucked it into the floor. After a cursory examination she found it unmarked, as it should be.

Task complete, she leaned back and wrapped herself in the forest green blanket she’d snagged from a mayfly caravan two weeks past.

Sleep eluded her as always. Drowsiness tugged at her eyelids, almost teasing in its flightiness. Normally she’d lay on her side and just wait, but her stubborn body refused to comply.

“Gods in heaven, if you will grant me this one favor, I will slaughter the entirety of Clan Pestilens singlehanded,” she muttered.

No response came, forcing a growl through her clenched teeth.

“Fine then, keep your dreams and blessed sleep!”

Something thunked into the side of her lean-to. The elf drew her hand axe in an instant, body coiled, ears straining against the faint breeze.

“Whoever’s out there better show themselves, I’m not in the mood for games.”

Again, nothing.

“Gods damn it all to hell.”

The elf stalked out of her makeshift home, eyes ablaze with righteous fury. Whoever interrupted her sleep was about to get a close shave.

To her immediate right was an oversized arrow, a scroll of parchment wrapped around its shaft. She tore at it irritably and scanned the cursive scribbled on it.

 

**_We’ve got a nice cup of mulled wine with your name on it, and a bonfire._ **

 

Most curious was the stark difference between the written text and the name signed on it. It was a familiar scrawl at the bottom. Scratchy, scrunched even, as if he’d felt rushed.

 

**_-Markus_ **

 

The writing was far too flowy for him. So Sienna’s then.

More than a little suspicious and wary, the elf made her way to the top floor of the keep, jumping between beams and railings as soft as she could. Saltzpyre was sat as far away from the group as possible. In his hands he held a weathered book, no doubt some religious text. Bardin was passed out right by the fire, surprisingly unmoved by the orange light (and heat)  bathing him in its light.

Sienna and Kruber were seated towards the edge of the portal room, legs dangling off the side.

She made her way over, eyes noting a wooden box sat next to Kruber.

“Think she’ll come?”

Kerillian froze just above them.

“Hope so, wasn’t easy sneaking that parchment out from under old Hawkeye.” Sienna groused.

Kruber sighed, leaning his elbow against his knee in thought.

“Eh, maybe she thinks the whole thing is bollocks. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

Kerillian felt a emotion stir in her breast, coiling like poison. Regret.

“I never said that mayfly. I said have fun,” she took considerable joy in the small flinch her companions displayed as she descended the nearby ladder. “Just figured you could do without another specter hovering in the corner.”

“I heard that!” Saltzpyre shouted.

“Well I’ll be off, gotta settle the old man's nerves,” Sienna said with a wink.

Kerillian scowled as the other woman whisked herself away in a flurry of sparks.

A cough brought her attention to the man beside her. True to their word, a steaming cup of wine was held in hand. She took it with a nod and sat down.

“So…” he began.

Kerillian very slowly turned her attention to the mercenary, mild interest scrunching her brow.

Kruber flushed in response and took a hearty swig from his mug.

The Elf snorted and took a sip of her own. She nearly blanched at the sudden taste that assailed her: a sweetness, but not too sweet, a distinct aftertaste not unlike black leaf tea, and if she was right, mint from Athel Loren.

“How…” she took a deeper pull, “did you…” another swig, “get this?”

In less than a minute she’d downed the savory drink while licking her lips with relish as the warmth bloomed from the pit of her stomach and into her chest. Suddenly she was back home, a warm drink after her patrol in hand and a good book at her side. The wind rustled her hair, playing with her fringe like a curious child.

Despite herself, Kerillian smiled, and smiled wide. She didn’t care if Kruber saw or not.

“There it is,” he chuckled.

She met his cheery gaze, unable to hide the faint chuckle bubbling in her chest.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He tried to look casual as he plucked the small wooden box off the floor and handed it over.

“Remember that Altdorf baron who needed a little security?”

“Aye?”

Inside was a collection of familiar leaves, different hues and smells all mixing in a glorious concoction that breathed a little bit of home into the keep.

“Lohner managed to get a crate of them off the old fool, cost me a favor he’s yet to cash in though…”

“Heh, knowing him he’ll have you wrestle a ratman in naught but your skivvies,” she joked, taking another deep breath.

“That’s not all.”

She looked up, suspicion prickling the back of her neck with worry.

“Come on.”

Kruber rose unsteadily to his feet and offered a hand. Kerillian raised a brow, but accepted nonetheless. She was starting to feel the effects of that wine.

He led her up the spiral staircase, as tight lipped as she’d ever seen. If she didn’t know any better she’d swear he was afraid to get too close. All she wanted to do was drink more of that wine and fall asleep on something vaguely comfortable… like his shoulder.

She shook her head, must have been the drink. Yes, that’s it the drink.

They cleared the final step, breaking out onto the snow capped roof. The moon shone silver, nearly blinding her with its reflected intensity.

“Alright, what is it? I think I feel a headache coming on and I’m not too eager to-”

Kruber pressed a bundle into her arms and stepped away.

The elf stared back at him, dumbfounded.

“Um, you’re supposed to open it,” Kruber said, hand cupping the back of his neck.

Kerillian shrugged. Might as well, since everything up to this point was downright pleasant. Not that she’d say as much out loud.

The material itself looked familiar, green, with a white trim. Wait…

Her eyes narrowed as she finally connected the dots. Her fur mantle, from Ubersriek. And in it was...

A bundle of six arrows fell into her open palm, each head glowing a steady blue light.

“Trueflights. By Kuronos…”

She took a step back, eyes watering as the enormity of what she carried crashed around her. Each missile would find its target without fail and strike hard. They could end the lives of those four lords, Racksnitt included.

“How…”

Kruber came to her side and looked over her shoulder from a respectable distance. The heat radiating off his form was a blessed remedy for the chill.

“When we escaped, I found the mantle in a pile of our things. It was pretty chewed up, but I managed to save most of it. As for the arrows, well that was another favor.”

She wrapped a free arm around his waist and squeezed tight, savoring the heat that bled into her.

“You’re gonna end up owing him your next born child by the end of this.”

Her voice wavered as she held back a giddy chuckle. It was starting to claw its way out her throat, curling her lips into a wide smile once more.

“Eh, he won’t go that far. Maybe my favorite hat, or set of armour.”

A little light went off in the back of her mind. Quickly she gripped his hand and tugged him towards the door, ignoring the cries of protest behind her as she rushed them to her hut.

“Wait here,” she ordered.

Kruber didn’t have time to respond before she was digging through her things. She had to return the favor in some way. This was too kind a gift for her to just accept without compensation.

Her fingers brushed past the numerous trophies she’d collected over the past year.

“Don’t think he’ll want a Skaven claw,” she muttered before adding, “or an antler.”

Eventually her fingers found something of note. Her old mask.

“Close your eyes!”

“Why?”

She scoffed, “just do it!”

“Better not be a trick…”

Kerillian found an old cowl as well, and a recovered longbow from her stockpile.

“Open your eyes.”

Kruber blinked away the moonlight and came to focus on her offered items.

“I thought you said I’d never be as good as you with that thing…”

“Well…” she felt her heart sink as he crossed his arms.

“Something about not even ten years of uninterrupted practice helping?”

“No that’s true,” she countered, then winced at what she said. Her fingers drummed the grip of the bow in irritation. She took a breath and handed him the clothing. “But… that doesn’t mean we couldn’t try… if you’re willing to take lessons.”

“From you?” Kruber asked, fingers playing with the facemask.

“Well, I mean we don’t-”

A steady chuckle escaped the man's lips, drawing a fierce scowl across her slender features as she shoved the longbow into his arms.

“You’re toying with me.”

“Me fair maiden? Never.”

Kerillian rolled up her tunic sleeves.

“I’ll show you fair maiden!”

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and sending them both to the snow covered stone in a painful heap. The mercenary chuckled beneath her, quickly reversing her grip and capturing her in a armlock.

“Let go you great buffoon!”

“Didn’t you jump me first, _Fair Maiden_?”

Kerillian snarled and wrapped her legs around his, swinging them both up and slipping out of his grasp in one swift motion. Her hand scraped up a handful of snow and stuffed it into his shirt, netting her a surprised yelp as a reward.

“Oh it’s on elf!”

“If you can hit me!”

With this she rolled off his waist and rushed to the training dummies. A frigid missile whizzed past her ear, promoting a quick guffaw to explode from her lips.

“Oh give up, I’ll have you know I won every snowball fight when I was little!”

“Against who?” Kerillian shot back, scraping up a sizable stockpile of missiles for her own use, “Those Calaback Cows?”

Another close call tickled the top of her head. She laughed, tossing a quick probing shot at the big man, grinning with satisfaction as a wet _splat_ greeted her ears, and a small string of curses she was pretty sure were laced with Dwarven.

“Give in?” Kerillian jibed.

“Not on your life!”

A veritable avalanche of snow descended upon her from behind her dummy. Her eyes widened in shock and she rolled out of cover, tossing a few quick snowballs for good measure. To her profound irritation both missed and she was forced to rush for the tree.

“No you dont!”

At least two of his snowballs impacted with her shoulder as she slid into cover.

“Got you!”

“Don't get cocky! I let you do that!”

“Uh huh…”

The waystalker took up a spare scrap of linen and scooped up a large sling of snow before rushing out, swinging the cloth above her head like a flail.

“Where are you…” she teased, eyes flicking from cover to cover, “I can hear your heartbeat you know? You might as well come out now.”

“Can you really?”

She grinned as the Mercenary swore and ducked behind his cover. Kerillian tossed her payload underhanded and rushed him, scooping up as much snow as she could on the way.

“You’re mine!”

“Not quite!”

Just as she vaulted the wooden barrier, Kruber tossed a single snowball right into her face, sending her sprawling on top of him. Both combatants wrestled for dominance, each attempting to stuff snow in the others face or shirt or whatever was visible.

Kerillian just managed to plunge another handful of snow down his back while he ground his captured snow into her cheek, sending her nerves alight.

“I win!” She shouted, “I’m on top!”

“I win,” kruber said after spitting out a bit of snow, “I hit you the most!”

The elf smirked, fisting a rather sizeable handful of slush and spreading it onto his threadbare shirt.

“There, now we're even!” Kerillian gasped, raising her fists to the air in victory.

“Again, not quite…”

Before she could cry out he’d stuffed a handful down her shirt as well, prompting a squeak of protest as he flipped her over and pinned her to the ground.

“There, now I’ve won on both counts,” he said, cocky grin affixed to his lips.

The Waystalker opened her mouth to protest, only to find that yes, he was quite right. She was positively soaked and he was indeed ‘on top’. Kerillian tried to suppress the giggle threatening to burst forth, but failed, letting out a belly shaking chortle as she took in the ridiculousness of what they’d just done. Isha help her if the dwarf had seen any of it. He’d never let her live it down for as long as _he_ lived.

Kruber joined in on the laugh, falling beside her and gazing up at the grey skies, backlit by a silver moon. Slowly, they regained their breath, wiping away tears and coughing as their bodies protested their reverie.

“Wow, I haven't played in the snow since…”

Kerillian propped herself up on an elbow and gazed at him, a contented smile on full display.

“Since you were a stripling?”

He nodded, brow furrowed in thought.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you still are.”

“I’m thirty seven.”

She shrugged, picking at one of her nails.

“Four hundred and two, what's your point?”

He turned to face her.

“Your an elf, I’m a human.”

“So?” Kerillian prodded, “I once saw an eighty year old berserker cleave two of my kin in half before we took him down. Age means nothing Kruber, discipline and good eating do.”

The Mercenary snorted, looking back up at the sky in amusement.

“That your secret? Discipline and good eating?”

“Pfft, no… i’m just naturally like this.”

“Oh shove off!” He chuckled, elbowing her side lightly.

The two shared a round of snickers before returning their attention to the sky, tracking the falling flakes in silence.

“You think this’ll end?”

Kerillian twisted about, finding her comrade glaring a hole in the clouds.

“It has to, our peoples have weathered these kinds of storms before,” she answered with ease.

“I dunno, I overheard Olesya talking to Lohner about the Chaos dens we've cleared, how they’re all pointing to something big.”

It was Kerillian’s turn to snort as she sat up as well.

“That woman’s three arrows short of a quiver. I wouldn't trust anything she says.”

“What about your dreams?”

His sudden line of questioning had her fumbling for words, for the first time in a long time

“What about them?” Kerillian finally asked as she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

“They're about something dark right? The Pale Queen?”

“She's our goddess of death… nothing more.”

“What about the visions you have? Of the places we fought in?”

“Visions from Lileath and Isha, warnings, to prepare, nothing more.”

“You're honestly telling me you've never had a terrible dream of the future?” Kruber propped his arm under his head as well. “Like end of the world stuff?”

She wanted to lie, say he had nothing to worry about, but the truth was: yes, she saw a horrible storm coming. One of hunger, a hunger that would come to consume the world in its wake, and her people in the process. She shuddered, rubbing her arms as the melted snow clung to her skin.

The Mercenary reached out, then stopped, just hovering over her arm before retreating. Kerillian’s hand snapped forward, intertwining his fingers with hers. She refused to look up, keeping all her attention directed at their hands. His were rough and calloused with years of use, Her’s immaculate, with only the faintest hint of raised skin where centuries of training had marred the pads of her fingers.

“I have…” she began, rubbing a faint circle on his knuckles. “But you have to understand, these dreams are often just that, dreams. I once saw us die fighting a giant squig in Ubersriek, and that didn't happen.”

“You’re tied to the world in a way none of us can understand, surely they must mean something?” Kruber squeezed her hand tight.

Kerillian looked into his eyes, seeing not desperation or sorrow as she would have thought, but hope.

“I-” she sighed. “I need to change. You should too.”

With this she stood and made her way back to her lean-to, gathering the mantle and arrows she’d dropped. Kerillian inhaled the scent of the pelt, taking quiet comfort in its warmth.

A set of firm arms wrapped themselves around her waist drawing her into a tight embrace.

“Whatever it is, we’ll fight it together. Till the end, yeah?”

Kerillian’s breath hitched in her throat. He was close, so close, and so warm. His very presence seemed to drive away the cold that seeped into her bones and heart. She felt her walls melt with it, until all that was left was a desire to let him hold on forever.

She let out a small defeated laugh, leaning back and letting her head fit into the nook beneath his chin. She inhaled deep, taking in the scent that was his and his alone. A mix of ale, oiled metal, and sweat.

“Together…” she whispered.

And so there they stood, both refusing to let go of the other as the silent night continued, snow deadening the sound around them and lulling the keep into a blessed silence.

“Happy Mondstille Day Markus…” she whispered finally.

“Happy Mondstille Day Kerillian.”


	8. Chapter 8

            Kerillian tested the weight of her bow once more, fingers tingling in anticipation as she traced the fletching on her arrow. She only had seven left, thanks to Kruber’s previous kills. But if their plan went off smooth, she would only need seven.

            After much deliberation, and fervent whispering, the two elves managed to convince the big lug to stay off his feet and in the shadows. After some quick snooping, Aelia managed to scrounge up a handgun with plenty of shot to spare. The Waystalker was never more grateful to see a firearm in her life, even if its stench was still appalling.

            Kruber was busy checking it over next to her, mumbling some prayer to Taal. Aelia was already on the move, getting into position on the Northlander’s right flank. Kerillian would follow to find a good perch while Kruber would light the whole thing off. With any luck the Rotblood leader would show his ugly mug and Kerillian could put a barb through his eye. Aelia would mop up the rest with the Waystalker as back up. Kruber would continue to fall back as they did so, taking potshots as needed.

            A tug on her tunic drew her attention to Isabel. The little girl looked into Kerillian’s eyes with a nervous glance. The elf arced a brow.

            “Yes?”

            Abigail brought a small stuffed bear into view, tiny hand shaking. She hadn’t had it before when they were on the road, so it must have been a very recent acquisition. Unsure how to respond she looked to the parents, who took great interest in the floorboards. Only Renald met her gaze. He nodded once, gesturing encouragingly to his sister with a tiny smile.

            “She hopes this will bring you luck, miss.”

            Kerillian kneeled to meet Abagail’s tense face, scrunched up in an attempt to look mature as she offered the bear insistently.

            “Is that true little one?” Kerillian whispered.

            Abagail nodded vigorously.

            The elf smiled beneath her mask and ensnared the child’s hand with hers. Before she could take it though, the girl spoke, soft and quiet.

            “Come… back…”

            Kerillian froze, eyes searching the girl’s in obvious confusion. Abagail’s lower lip quivered as she suddenly lunged at her, wrapping her little arms around her throat in a tight embrace.

            “Come… back… please,” she shuddered.

            Great, more mayfly tears to stain her clothes. Though the gesture was very… sweet, if she were being honest. Not that she was foolish enough to believe simple trinkets would offer any real aid, no-no-no.

Yet despite herself, she patted the little girl’s back, even going so far to lower her mask enough to press a small kiss to her brow.

            “May Isha bless your path Haroith,” she whispered.

            She wasn’t surprised at the quick looks the others tried to sneak; all save for Kruber, having seen what lay under her mask long ago along with the rest of The Five. Renald was the least subtle, eyes wide as he tried to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath. Kerillian was quick to replace it, though not without a cheeky wink directed at the girl. She took the bear in hand and rubbed Abigail’s head before turning to Kruber.

            “Now, are we ready or what?”

            The mercenary drew back the cocking hammer with a small click and nodded.

            “After you.”

            The march across town was eerily silent, the fires having long failed to catch on any of the other buildings, leaving the shadows long, and the night all encompassing. They stepped over the corpse of the Rothelm she’d felled not thirty minute previous. Her hand drifted to Markus on its own, finding his with an urgency she couldn’t account for.

            She squeezed, imparting as much as she could in the simple gesture. He responded in kind, thumb casually tracing her knuckles.

            They reached his perch – a small two-story affair conveniently overlooking the plaza – in little time. She made short work of the locks and lent him her shoulder up to the balcony, pressing her lips to his cheek before turning to leave.

            “Take care of yourself mayfly. I have something for you when we get home.”

            “Home?”

            He turned, finding naught but empty space.

            Kruber sighed, taking careful aim on the biggest bastard he could find. Not too hard in retrospect. A Rothelm standing a good eight feet lorded over the assembled townsfolk, words loud enough to reach even his ears.

            “…Two she elves, a human mercenary, and a dirty family, is that too much to ask for?!”

            His large gauntleted hand shot forward, clamping around one of the town guards, judging by the light reflecting off the half plate.

            “Where are they?!”

            Kruber took a breath and squeezed the trigger.

           

***

 

            Kerillian was quick to respond, letting one of her arrows strike deep in the Northlander’s helm as he reeled from the shot. But as it is with most Rothelm’s, it was going to take more than one shot to take him down. He did stumble into his fellows, taking at least three of the brutes with him as he collapsed to the ground.

            She was quick to loose another three into the identifiable lieutenants, or whatever passed for them. With their attention fixed firmly on her she drew the short sword Aelia had managed to scrounge and charged into the fray, taking another two out by their legs as she danced among them. Their reactions were blessedly slow compared to hers, drifting as if underwater while she casually took them apart. With her wounds healed she could truly let loose, like before in the alley. The only difference between then and now was she felt no rage, simply serenity, and a bliss she hadn’t been able to experience since their first jaunt into Helmgart.

            A savage roar came from her left, quickly silenced by a shock of thunder as Kruber’s second shot hit home. She smirked under her mask and ducked under an incoming strike. This was almost too easy…

            “Behind you!”

            She turned just in time to make out the shape of the gargantuan Rothelm’s form as it impacted her side. Not enough to wound, but she knew a grapple when she saw it. Kerillian twisted in his grip, slipping loose with relative ease, but the sudden rush of air from her lungs made her take pause. The brute was panting, shoulders shrugging with effort as he steadied his gait with the great axe in his left hand.

            “You’re… mine, wench!” He seethed.

            “You’re welcome to try,” she quipped, sliding into a loose stance.

            The light from the central bonfire illuminated the frightened faces of the humans, still corralled by the remaining barbarians. Some looked to her with hope, other’s the characteristic fear or disgust.

            At her feet lay ten dead, eleven including the one shot by Kruber.

            Aeila’s absence was concerning, she should have been there by now.

            “Afraid witch?” The Rothelm taunted, sidestepping around her.

            She followed, not letting her back face the rest of his men.

            “I’m waiting…” she shot back.

            Surprisingly, the northlander stopped moving, now opposite her and placing her right in Kruber’s last known line of sight. She growled, this one learned from his fellows mistakes and wasn’t likely to repeat them.

            “You’re kind are limited in this part of the Reikland, why come here?”

            The Rothelm chuckled.

            “What use would words be spent on a hag such as you? Fight, or flee coward.”

            Kerillian had enough, she charged, but at the last minute ducked under the Northlander’s axe. The expected shot rang out, but the Rothelm himself was already gone. She spun about, letting the heavy axe glance off her blade as she retreated into the group of Norsca fighters who were already swarming her.

            A cruel grin formed on her lips as she swung on the first, cleaving head from shoulders as the sword dug into another’s shoulder. Kerillian let out a chuckle as the man’s arm fell to the floor and she kicked him into his allies. A twitch of her ear warned her of the Rothelm’s approach.

            “Not this time!”

            Her blade struck true, right where the Norsca Knight’s shoulder plate met chainmail. A low grunt escaped his lips. Kerillian grimaced as the foul ichor that replaced his blood dripped onto the steel and nearly touched her fingers.

            “You’ll have to hit harder than that…”

            “I will.”

            Kerillian wrenched the weapon back and pushed off against the breastplate, giving her a good six feet of clearance between them. She went low, readying herself for the inevitable charge that would follow.

            Kruber let off another shot, striking down one of the lesser souls that tried to block her path. His lifeless corpse fell against the stonework, forcing the rest back. They flicked their gaze between her and their master, who remained still, thumb tracing a sickly green rune on the haft of his axe.

            “Seek the shooter. Leave her to me.”

            His men nodded and hurried out of the square.

            Kerillian coked her head, mildly surprised at the discipline displayed. Then she saw it; a faint yellow standing bright beneath the grime. Bretonnians.

            “How long since you turned to the Lord of Filth?”

            “Long enough to know who’s truly worth following.”

            The assault came, a barreling mass of rotten plate and fury bearing down on the elf’s position. Time seemed to slow, every thump of his boots stretched out for an eternity as she braced. Her next move would decide this fight, even an inch off and that was it.

            Fingers tightening on the sword, she took a breath and lunged.

 

***

 

            The moment the band of Norsca troops started moving Kruber started focusing on them. He’d managed to take one, then two before they vanished in the darkness of night. Kruber cursed. He’d have to make due with the spear Aelia had managed to provide for him.

            A clatter of boots against wood warned him of their approach. Kruber tossed aside the handgun and took what he hoped was a ready stance. His ankle still twinged something fierce, but he had to hold long enough for Kerillian to mop up the Rothelm.

            He cast one last glanced at the plaza, surprised to find the big man matching the lithe woman hit for hit, blocking, feinting, even twisting away from her strikes as easily she did his.

            A crack of steel on wood brought his attention to the front. He brought the oak spear to bear with a set grimace, growling out a small prayer to Taal and Sigmar before shouting at the top of his lungs:

            “ **THIS IS WHERE I STAND, AND YOU FALL!”**

The first two found themselves pinned together, struggling against Kruber’s strength that sent them down the stairs and into the arms of their fellows. Kruber unsheathed the short sword as his side and leapt from the highest step, twisting the blade so it would drive deep into the third man’s skull. A resounding sick _Crunch_ echoed through the stairwell as Kruber’s strike hit home. Frenzied now, the Norsca warriors started hacking at random, each casually batted aside by Kruber’s armored fists. With a casual twist of a wrist a blade was soon in his grasp and cleaving hands from wrists and heads from shoulders once more. His ankle was throbbing, as if he’d dipped it in liquid steel. He pressed on, there were at least eight more of the bastards clogging up the entryway and he wasn’t going to let a single one out of this place alive.

            A ruckus from behind them forced a few to turn, giving the mercenary enough time to thrust the blade through a mottled grey neck. Brackish blood spilled forth, seeping into the blade with a frightening speed. Kruber gripped the hilt and leveraged the rest of it through his neck, satisfied with the twitch the corpse made before he returned his attention to the rest.

            “Come on!”

 

***

 

            Kerillian’s breaths were coming quick now. Though she’d never admit it, this Rothelm, this fallen Bretonnian knight was more than a match for her in his current form. Despite his size and the weight of the weapon, it was all she could do to avoid his hits.

            The next impact nearly made her drop her blade. Her bones ached, her legs felt like they wanted to give way, and she loved every moment of this. It had been years, perhaps centuries since she’d had a foe such as this. The Troll, the previous Rothelm, they were easy meat, just circumstances worked against her to make it more difficult. This? This was true bliss. One inch out of place, one misstep, and her life would be over. Yet despite that, she had one advantage he didn’t.

            She had someone to get back to.

            Kerillian willed the world to slow as she stepped into the big man’s guard, bringing her off hand to bear on the haft while sliding her edge of her blade into the gap beneath his helm.

            Just as she was sure of contact, his gauntlet found its way around her throat and squeezed. She froze, feeling her legs kick out and beat against his breastplate in a staccato rhythm. How? How could she miss that?

            Her blade had stopped just inches from his neck, looking down she could see another blocking her strike. Further from that her gaze fell onto the familiar helm and eyes of Aelia.

            “No…”

            The handmaiden remained as impassive as ever. Her brow furrowed as she tapped the Rothelm’s arm. Kerillian felt gravity reassert itself in the most painful way as she was thrown, head cracking against the cobbles and sending a burst of pain throughout her spine. A few of the captives gasped in response.

            “Blessed Gods…” Kerillian muttered.

            The captured sword clattered to the ground beside her, startling her to movement. Kerillian snatched it up one handed while he other cupped the back of her head, which she was pretty sure was bleeding at his point.

            Aelia stepped forward, letting her blade come to rest mere inches from the Waystalker’s face.

            “You never got away, did you?” Kerillian spat. “They let you go.”

            The Handmaiden nodded.

            “Aye, though I didn’t realize it until now.”

            Kerillian blinked, the fading light of the Northlander bonfire was playing hell with her vision as she stepped back from the two of them.

            “How’d you keep it a secret for so long?”

            Aelia shrugged.

            “You’d be surprised what a few mint leaves here and there will do for you.”

            “But the healer…”

            A rumble escaped the Bretonnian knight in a manner she could only assume was a laugh.

            “The Rotfather permitted such action elf, but he is never truly gone once his gift is granted.”

            The elf winced at the dark patch staining her palm. Before she could ready herself Aelia tossed a brace of elven shortswords her way.

            “I am sorry. But this is your last fight, cousin.”

            Kerillian drew the blades, taking note of the fine Ulthuani script inlaid along the tang. She locked eyes with Aelia and gave them an experimental twirl. Perfectly balanced.

            “Very well.”

            They danced the razors edge, both Nurgle worshippers against a lone Waystalker. Kerillian couldn’t help the smile creeping onto her lips as she deflected Aelia’s spear and redirected it between the Rothelm’s plates. The fallen Handmaiden cursed under her breath, struggling against the embedded spear tip.

            In a flash of steel the Waystalker relieved her of such worry, bisecting the spear shaft one moment and slicing Aelia’s throat open the next. The fallen Handmaiden’s eyes widened in disbelief, her caustic blood hissed in the open air. Kerillian wrinkled her nose at the fetid stench and redirected her attention back to the knight.

            “Sentimentality is a luxury few can afford.”

            He shrugged and shoved the fallen handmaiden to the ground.

            “She’s not the one you truly care for though, is she?”

            Kerillian brought her blades to bear, each driving a deep nick into the haft of his axe. She could not let her anger drive her. She got lucky last time, but Gods only knew if Aelia would stay down before she could finish the big bastard off.

            The Knight grunted as she kicked what was left of Aelia’s spear deep into his chest. He swiped at her on instinct, clipping the hem of her hood as she dodged out of the way. She growled and brought the blades down on both sides of his neck before he could right himself. The scrape of metal on metal set her teeth on edge, but the resulting spurt of brackish blood was enough to make her heave a weary sigh and let go.

            “By Sigmar…”

            Kerillian ignored the captive man’s comment, redirecting her attention to Aelia’s corpse, or more accurately, the lack of it.

            “Oh shite…” she muttered. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Been a while I know, and I apologize. But I hope this chapter will more than make up for it. And considering the fact that I missed it, thanks to everyone who has read/ commented/left kudos. We passed over 3000 hits last month! I'm completely blown away by the support that's formed behind this little fic. Well... little no more eh?

            Kruber’s sword arm burned, exhaustion creeping into his every step. The northmen knew this, pressing him further and further into the streets with every step. A lucky thrust slipped past his gambeson. Markus gasped, only managing to hold onto his weapons by pure force of will. The Nurgle worshipper chuckled under their breath, the sound not unlike a throat clogged with phlegm.

            The Mercenary grabbed a fallen banner at his side and sent a few of the rotbloods back. His newfound weapon worked twofold, being able to keep them at a distance but also support his sprained ankle. The injury had moved beyond a gentle throb to white hot, so he needed every advantage he could get.

“C’mon you bastards!”

             Markus deflected a strike from above with the broken banner and used it to pin the northlander’s blade to his chest. With the weapon pinned, Kruber put all his weight against the mob, shoving the first line down in a heap. He struck at them, cleaving heads and limbs from bodies. A ragged cry tore itself from his lips, unkempt rage finally boiling over after the last few days of turmoil. All the pain they’d inflicted on him, on _her_ —

            He paused in his work, staring at the wriggling mass of bodies laid before him. The image of Kerillian curled up on her side flooded his mind, the barest of whimpers on her lips.

            The mass of bodies shifted, forcing Kruber back, blade readied. A familiar shadow took its place at his side, spear in hand.

            “Nice to see you Aelia.”

            The handmaiden didn’t respond, save to step in front of him and gesture towards the main courtyard.

            “You sure?”

            The elf kept her back, to him and spun the spear between her hands.

            “Fall back when you need to, don’t be a hero.”

            With that, the mercenary started picking his way through the bodies and into the center of town.

            “Kerillian!”

            The flames of the bonfire had started to die down, bringing the lingering shadows closer to the huddled civilians. Markus sighed and limped to the cages. If Kerillian was off hunting there was little he could do save help those in need.

His borrowed blade made quick work of the ropes. The villagers offered a few words of thanks; others simply stared, either due to his ragged appearance or the suddenness of their capture and release.

            “I’d ask that you go there,” he said, pointing to the town hall. “And bar the doors, never know what might happen.”

            “What about you?” A man in a guard’s uniform asked.

            “I’ll be fine. Just need to rest a bit.”

            He leaned against the cage with a sigh.

             “You’ll have plenty of time for that later Kruber, the war against evil knows no rest.”

            The reedy voice of his superior brought Kruber to attention. He slammed his fist against the gambeson, a warm smile spreading across his lips as he caught sight of his comrades. Sienna’s staff illuminated the Witch Hunter’s hollow eyes. Nevertheless, the faint smile on his lips betrayed the grim countenance he’d come to associate the man with. The Bright Wizard and Bardin shared a look before he tossed her a bag of coin.

            “Sir? What—how did you?”

            “No time for that, report.”

            The Mercenary clicked his one good heel against the cobblestone.

            “Nurgle worshippers sir, attacked a farmer’s family outside town. Now here.”

            The Witch Hunter examined the burning buildings, the bodies at his feet, and the huddled masses. Kruber tried to stand tall in the face of the others, but his throbbing ankle refused to let him.

            “And the elf?”

            He chuckled.

            “Dunno, out hunting I suppose.”

            “Wrong again mayfly.”

            Saltzpyre closed his eyes, suppressing the sigh building in his chest. Sienna turned, smiling wide as the Waystalker stepped forward. Kruber felt warm relief spread through his chest at the sight of her alive. Her silver hair was muddied and her hood bore a cut, but she was well and whole.

            “Good, we’re all here then. Now we can—”

            Kerillian ignored Saltzpyre and rushed to Kruber’s side without further ceremony. Her lips found his immediately, a small whimper of relief slipping from her lips as she slipped her hands beneath his gambeson, searching for injuries. Kruber laced his fingers through her hair while the other let go of his sword to pull her in close, a reassurance.

            “I—What?” Saltzpyre’s confused tone drove a small chuckle from the Waystalker’s lips, but she pressed on, seemingly emboldened by the Witch Hunter’s discomfort. Her forcefulness nearly pushed him back onto his injured foot before Saltzpyre spoke again.

            “I must insist you cease and desist! We have work to do, and no time for such… displays.”

            This finally broke Kerillian’s concentration as she bent over and let out a steady chuckle, one hand still clutching Kruber’s shoulder for support. It was all he could do not to blush as the Witch Hunter’s furious expression washed over them both.

            “We will have words Kruber. Keep that in mind.”           

            The Mercenary swallowed hard and nodded.

            “Now, with that out of the way,” Saltzpyre continued, doing his best to speak over the elf’s chuckles, “what other information is pertinent to this situation?”

            “Er, well. We’ve been assisted by another elf sir, a Handmaiden named Aelia, as Kerillian calls her.”

            Kerillian stiffened at his side.

            “She’s on their side now one-eye.”

            Kruber turned to face her and found the once joyous and relieved expression vanished, replaced by hard-set onyx eyes. Her knuckles were bone white against the hilt of her blades.

            “Where is this elf?”

            “I saw her.” Kruber admitted, kicking himself for not looking the woman over. “Just down the street. She stepped in between me and a horde of Rotblood’s.”

            Kerillian’s icy stare flashed in his direction, though they softened a moment later, to an almost imperceptible degree.

            “Then we have work to do, form up.”

            Saltzpyre took the lead with Bardin at his side, while Sienna, Kerillian, and Kruber took the rear. The Waystalker stuck close, lending him her shoulder as the Mercenary limped his way down the street.

            “The old man has a point darlings,” Sienna whispered. “A talk seems in order.”

            “Not you too,” Kruber groaned.

            The Ashqy Wizard smiled fiendishly. Searing red eyes fixed the duo with the air of a socialite having found the juiciest bit of gossip of the season. For a few moments she just watched, piercing them with that knowing stare.

            “Gone for two days and you’re all over each other. Dear me what will Olesya think Kruber?”

            Kerillian’s hold tightened on his waist.

            “The crone will have to kill me first.”

            Sienna burst out laughing, shaking her head as they made their way to the sight of Kruber’s last fight. His eyes scanned over the discarded weapons, limbs, even the broken banner, but no bodies. Saltzpyre halted the procession with a raised fist. Those fit enough to stand on their own formed a circle, eyes scanning the rooftops. After a shared glance Kerillian let Kruber stand on his own to cover Sienna’s flank.

            “You are sure it was here?” Saltzpyre inquired. “There aren’t any signs of bodies, nor tampering as Nurglites are want to do. Its as if they—”

            “Walked away?” Kerillian finished, bow raised. “Yes, a common tactic of the plagued ones.”

            Kruber thumbed the crossguard of his sword.

            “Meaning?”

            “She brought them back.” Kerillian whispered. “That damned woman brought them back.”

            Kruber felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His eyes raked the darkened alleys.

            “Elf, do you see anything?”

            “No, and I don’t hear anything either.”

            Saltzpyre drew his repeater.

            “Witch, ready your flames, we will need them.”

            “Oh thank you,” she teased. “What would I do without your wise leadership?”

            The Hunter was just about to bite out a retort before Sienna let loose a torrent of flame, lighting several street lamps and bits of debris in the process. With his vision cleared, Kruber was just able to make out a few bodies.

            “There Grimgi, twenty paces,” Bardin whispered.

            “I see it.” Saltzpyre confirmed, “What are they waiting for?”

            Kruber turned his attention to their side of the street. True to the Dwarf’s word, at least twenty figures stood in mute silence, outlines barely visible in the dim light.

            “They’re waiting,” Kerillian said, eyes still focused on their right flank. “For her. Kill them now.”

            Saltzpyre and Sienna let loose a torrent of bullets and flame, taking at least half their number in seconds. What concerned Kruber most was the silence, no grunts, whimpers, cries; they simply fell without a word. Again, the figures remained stock-still. Kruber licked his lips. What were they waiting for?

            One of the fallen twitched, its joints popping and cracking as it rose out of the dirt, flesh sloughing off in disgusting clumps. The woman’s face was half charred, revealing the blackened bone beneath. The Ubersreik Five watched in mute horror as each fallen corpse rose again, some only managing to hold themselves up by their arms.

            “What in Sigmar’s name…” Saltzpyre muttered, reloading his weapon at speed.

            “Damn her, SHOW YOURSELF AELIA! YOU ARENT AFRAID ARE YOU?!”

            Kerillian’s voice echoed off the shattered buildings, the only sound in the encroaching darkness. As one, the horde parted, revealing Aelia’s silhouette as she approached.

            “ ** _Why would I be afraid?_** ”

            Kruber flinched. The voice was dual tones, one soft and sweet, much like Kerillian’s, the other a revolting burbling sound, not unlike a congested throat. Kruber felt sick just listening to it, repressing the urge to scratch at his skin. He noted the other’s discomfort as well; Sienna seemed to be holding her breath, while Saltzpyre and Bardin shook their heads. Kerillian meanwhile had her arrow trained on Aelia’s head.

            “I have something for you, traitor.”

            The laugh that emanated from the handmaiden began as just that: a laugh. But as they watched, a fog of rancid green filth fell upon them. Each member of the Ubersreik Five stood their ground as the gas coalesced in the night air. The humidity rose, beads of sweat formed on Kruber’s brow and his eyes started to sting.

            “What in Sigmar’s name is this?” Saltzpyre coughed.

            “A foul trick, designed to disorient,” Kerillian said, “Stand your ground. She’ll come for us soon.”

            Kruber heard the hammer on Saltzpyre and Bardin’s rifle’s click, while Sienna drew in her flames. All he could do was squint in the distant fog and brace his blade against his forearm. If Aelia wanted a fight, he’d give her one.

            “Stay close to me,” Kerillian whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

            “Heh, isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

            She said nothing, save to press into his side for half a moment.

            “Aim for the head, I don’t know many things that can exist without one.” Saltzpyre said.

            Kruber widened his stance, feeling rivulets of sweat trail down his back. His allies breathing became labored, each one sucking in greedy lungfuls as they braced for the inevitable onslaught. The mercenary coughed, quickly wiping away the sweat stinging his eyes. Before he could so much as speak Sienna let out a gasp and her flames dropped.

            “What?”

            Saltzpyre’s next word was cut off as he too let out a cry of pain and fell to the cobbles. Kerillian was first to his side, feeling for a pulse. Bardin fired at random, parting the smoke for but a moment.

            “ ** _A gift for you._** ”

            Kruber swept at Aelia with his blade and found only air. Her wicked laughter echoed around him, nothing like Kerillian’s. The Waystalker’s was quick, fleeting like a feather on the breeze. The fallen handmaiden’s however was everywhere, pouring into his ears like a thick quagmire and blocking out al other sounds.

_Out, have to get it out!_

            Kruber swung again, the fog was in his mouth, his eyes, ears, and killing Aelia would end it.

            Bardin was next to fall, collapsing in a clatter of metal and curses. Kerillian hissed, loosing a single arrow into the soup of fog. Kruber stepped over their fallen allies, sword readied. The elf covered his flank, hand ensnaring his and squeezing tight.

            “Have to get out,” he whispered.

            “Shh, I’m here. Focus on me.”

            “The others… she hasn’t hit you?”

            She paused between breaths.

            “She has.”

            Kruber wanted to turn around, to check the wound, but her hand squeezed tighter.

            “Focus mayfly.”

            He returned his attention to the front, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. It wasn’t the low visibility that bothered him; he’d fought in fogbanks worse than this and come out unscathed. It was the silence, that damned silence. The horde of dead could be three meters to his left and he wouldn’t know it.

            “ ** _Kruber…_** ”

            Both mercenaries swung for the sound and only succeeded in clashing steel on steel.

            “Face me witch!”

            “ ** _I intend to_**.”

            Kerillian let go, a scream of agony on her lips. The sound drove a sliver of ice through his heart. Before he could turn the fog swirled around him, tighter and tighter, almost suffocating him as it drew him away from the others. A savage growl formed in his throat and tore itself free, matched only by the strength of his swipes. Every fiber of his being drove him to attack, to survive, get back to Kerillian.

            The fog cleared, revealing the blazing inferno that was the central bonfire. He could feel the tips of his beard singe and curl against the heat. Kruber reeled against it, stumbling as his injured ankle took his full weight.

            “ ** _Over heeere!_** ”

            He whirled, sword readied. Aelia stood twenty feet away with open arms, a smile stretched unnaturally from ear to ear.

            “Where’s your bade wench? Lose it in a scuffle?”

            She laughed, forcing a gout of foul ichor out of the gaping wound in her throat. Deep down he knew the woman shouldn’t have been able to breathe, much less speak, yet here she was, blood hissing on the cobbles.

            “ ** _I wanted her to see this_**.”

            Kruber froze as Kerillian was dragged forward. The wound in her side stained her bark cuirass a deep crimson.

            “See what?”

            Aelia’s smile widened to a point Kruber couldn’t fathom, it ran from the back of her jaw to the corners of her lips. When she smiled, her jaw unhinged, revealing a set of razor sharp teeth. That same laugh gurgled forth, the crawling sensation on his flesh coming with it. Aelia’s hand came to rest at the wood elf’s hood, which she jerked back and in the same motion fisted Kerillian’s hair. The Waystalker hissed, gritting her teeth and uttering a word Kruber couldn’t understand.

            “ ** _Watch Kerillian, look at him, the brave hero._** ”

            Try as she might, Kerillian couldn’t wrest her head from the fallen maiden’s grip. The familiar onyx eyes came to rest on Kruber’s with a profound sense of reluctance and longing.

            Aelia undid the forest green mask, revealing the set of twisting scars starting just at the tip of Kerillian’s chin and branching out like the limbs of a bizarre tree. The pattern continued along her jaw, rising into her cheeks and coming to rest just below the cheekbone, twisting and swirling in a complexity Kruber hadn’t thought possible. In the dying light they simply looked like black tattoos, not dissimilar to the patterns on her glaive. Yet up close it was as if someone had simply pressed the design into her flesh. The first time he’d laid eyes on them she offered a sincere threat on his life should he utter a word to anyone. At the time all he did was stare, and offer a humble confession. Now that he found himself in a similar position he saw no reason not to reiterate it.

            “They’re beautiful…”

            Kerillian let out a sharp bark of laughter, choked with emotion.

            “Mayfly fool…”

            Kruber opened his mouth to speak, but before he could something shoved him in the back. He blinked, swayed on his feet, and looked down. Aelia’s spear protruded from his chest, glowing a sickly green. Kruber’s eyes searched for Kerillian’s, hoping to find answers. All she offered was a scream, a scream he felt deep in his bones as he slumped to his knees.

            The Waystalker struggled against Aelia’s grip, but whatever power she’d traded for her soul held her firm, forced to watch as he coughed, blood spewing forth in a crimson mist.

            “ ** _Watch this, watch this…_** ” Aelia intoned, inches from Kerillian’s ear. “ ** _Watch as the light leaves his eyes, and as his soul finds its way to the Rotfather’s embrace._** ”

            Kruber’s vision came to rest on Kerillian’s sharp features one last time, frozen in grief and terror as the cursed spear exited his chest, inch by painful inch. Her voice grew fainter with every moment.

            “Kerillian…” he whispered. “I never got to—”

             The last thing he saw was the spear appearing in Aelia’s grip before he met earth.

 

***

 

            In all her years of life there was never a moment more painful than watching Kruber fall. He slumped to the ground in a heap, body moving under its own power before heaving a single pained breath. Hot tears drifted down her face, following the trails of scars as water in a riverbed.

            “ ** _There it is…_** ” Aelia said again, tightening her grip. “ ** _The moment you will regret, for all eternity._** ”

            The fallen handmaiden snapped the waystone necklace off Kerillian’s neck and crushed it into a fine red dust.

            “ ** _And eternity is where you’re going, cousin_**.”

            Kerillian couldn’t process the words or the actions of the woman behind her. Her eyes remained fixed on the body, begging, praying, that his back would rise and fall, a sign he was alive.

            Nothing.

            She hung her head, unconscious of the fact that Aelia had let go.

            “ _Lileath, here my prayer, whatever favor you may have bestowed upon me, let it rest on him. Lay your hands on him oh Goddess of the Moon. Let him live… please don’t let him be—_ ” The word died on her lips. She couldn’t say it. Kerillian swallowed the lump in her throat and shut her eyes tight. “ _Please, let him live, and I will forever be in your debt._ ”

            A piece of cold steel pressed itself under her chin.

            “ ** _She can’t hear you. The bitch doesn’t care for the likes of us._** ”

            Kerillian glared up at her.

            “You lost your way. No wonder she abandoned you.”

            For the first time, the wicked smile faltered. Aelia’s eye twitched and the steel pressed harder.

            “ **We were beset on all sides! Plague monks, Life-leeches, Plague sorcerers, endless hordes of the undead, what would you have done?!** ”

            Aelia’s voice had reached a pitch that pierced Kerillian’s ears like needles.

            “ ** _Could_ you _have handled it? You and your little group? Your foolish friends?!_** ”

            Kerillian didn’t need to think as the smile drew itself across her lips.

            “Yes.”

            The fallen Handmaiden drew the spear back, but just as she was about to strike, a light emanated from the center of Kerillian’s chest, a sudden flash that engulfed her in its radiance and drowned out all pain and all sound.

            She toppled forward, blind, as something warm wrapped itself around her shoulders. Whatever it was, it held her close, and brushed her hair with a tenderness she hadn’t felt in years.

            “ _You are a curious one, child of Loren._ ”

            It was a woman’s voice, sweet and loving, but an air of authority pervaded every syllable, almost telling her to stand up straight. To honor the being clutching her ruined form. Kerillian grasped the shoulders of whoever it was, dragging herself up, feeling every injury as the warmth faded ever so slightly.

            “ _Curious indeed…_ ”

            “Who are you?!”

            Her voice was raspy, and it hurt to speak, like the interior of her throat had been scraped with a knife. She coughed, tightening her grip on the woman’s shoulders and forcing her eyes to open, to bear the wondrous light stabbing at her irises.

            “ _Easy child. We don’t have long. Lileath came to me in a dream. Telling me of your plight._ ”

            “Who are you?”

            Now that her voice had returned to a somewhat working order, Kerillian allowed herself to be taken in by the embrace, let the warmth encompass her and drown out all pain.

            “ _Alarielle,_ _The Everqueen._ ”

            Kerillian froze. If that was true, she was in far bigger trouble than she realized. Or Lileath had plans for her beyond this life.

            “ _Peace. No harm will come to you. You have achieved much in your time leafling. But there is much to learn, and very little time to do so._ ”

            “If it is Lileath’s desire, I will serve.”           

            A gentle laugh tickled her ear as the Everqueen brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

            “ _Fight well Kerillian._ ”

            In a flash she was on her knees again, rolling at an impossible speed as Aelia tried and failed to skewer her. The Waystalker stood and sidestepped another blow, feeling that warmth power her limbs as she avoided every hit from the accursed weapon. Aelia howled with rage, letting loose a series of thrusts in an attempt to pin her down. Evidently having enough, the fallen handmaiden chucked the spear at her chest. She twisted out of the way, but soon realized the dark gift bestowed upon it.

            The spear swung around in midair, intent on piercing the Waystalker’s heart no matter what she did. Kerillian licked her lips, noting the distance between her and Aelia before letting herself fall flat and grinning with profound satisfaction as it pierced its master.

            Not giving the maiden time to recover, Kerillian swung herself onto her feet and clocked the other woman in the jaw. She fell to the cobbles, giving Kerillian ample time to take a fist of her hair and smash the woman’s mutated face into the ground, once, twice, again and again. The scream on her lips wasn’t human, or elven, it was simply rage incarnate. Soon all that remained was a smear and a mass of flesh where the face should have been.

            Kerillian shuddered, letting the scream die in her lips and devolve into deep sobs. She pawed at her side, the injury from before was gone. Yet Markus…

            “Goddess why?”

            She turned her attention to Kruber’s form, still unmoving.

            “Why him?”           

            The elf dragged herself to the body, hands shakily reaching for his shoulder and tugging with all her might so his eyes faced the sky. His features were soft, softer than she’d ever seen them. It forced another sob from her lips.

            “Dammit, why mayfly? Why?”

            Kerillian bashed her fist against his chest and buried her face in his collar, inhaling his scent. Gunpowder, ale, and sweat.

            “Why?”

            A beat thumped in her ear. Faint.

            No, it couldn’t…

            She let out a desperate whimper and brushed his hair away, bringing her ear to the side of his neck and holding her breath. There it was again.

            Small, faint, but there.

            The sobs that burst forth seemed endless. Grief, rage, and pure joy flooded her system, threatening to drown her in its wake. She tugged on his shoulders, trying to pull him towards the others, if she could just find them. Sienna, maybe she could seal the wound! But the spear… it was a Nurglite weapon, he could die anyway.

            No, she couldn’t allow herself that thought, not while he still lived.

            “Help! He needs help!”

            Her cries didn’t fall on deaf ears. Out of the shadows figures beyond number stepped forth. Kerillian grabbed the first thing she could find on hand, in her case a broken pole with a slight point.

            “Stay back, I’m warning you!”

            She hated the way her voice wavered, how her hand shook.

            The first figure rushed into the light unafraid. Kerillian nearly dropped the piece of wood in shock.

            “Abigail?”

            The little girl flung her arms around Kerillian’s frame and squeezed tight. As she watched, more and more citizens came forth, bearing weapons improvised and otherwise. Their faces were grim, but determined.

            “We’ll help,” Abigail said. “Renald’s gone for your friends.”

            Kerillian turned to the crowd and found the girls parents among them. Clive nodded, hefting what looked like a broken off chair leg onto his shoulder with a small grunt.

            “He helped me and mine when he didn’t have to. Cant let that go unanswered.”

            It was the closest she’d get to an apology from the stubborn farmer, so she nodded her thanks and returned the little girl’s embrace.

            “Thank you…”

            As if on cue the rest of the Five rushed onto the scene, clothes bloodied from battle but none the worse for wear. The Waystalker pointed at Kruber’s prone form with a shaky finger.

            “Help him Sienna! Close the wounds!”

            The Bright Wizard nodded and lit up her hands. Kerillian set Abigail aside and helped the wizard tear away his armor, revealing the gash in his chest.

            “He shouldn’t be alive.”

            “Well he is, so shut up and help him!”

            Sienna looked up for but a moment and readied a small burst of flame. She sighed and pressed it into the wound. Kruber bucked on instinct, but he didn’t so much as groan or scream.

            “I don’t know if the rot has spread. He needs a healer,” Sienna said.

            “Indeed,” Saltzpyre said, appearing on Kerillian’s left. “We will carry him Elf. The portal is not far.”

            Kerillian turned to Aelia’s corpse, only to find it missing again.

            “No…”

            The rest of them followed her gaze and sagged their shoulders.

            “Harder to kill than I gave you lot credit for…” Bardin muttered.

            The warmth flooded Kerillian’s limbs again; she knew what she needed to do.

            “Help him. I will return.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            The tone in Saltzpyre’s voice could have been described as ‘concerned’ if he weren’t such an unpleasant man. Kerillian chose to ignore him as she collected her bow and swords from Bardin’s hands.

            “I have game to hunt.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, look at you wutelgi! A stiff breeze could knock you over at this rate.”

            “Yes, he’s right, come back to the keep at least darling!” Sienna added.

            The elf met her friend’s eye, conveying in a single look what took months to finally recognize in her self. Sienna blinked, then allowed a sad smile to cross her lips.

            “Ah, I see.”

            The Waystalker threw the bow over her shoulder.

            “I’ll be back. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’ll be back.”

            Saltzpyre considered her for a moment, teeth worrying at his lower lip. He sighed and pulled a blue stone from beneath his vestments.

            “What’s this?”

            “It’s for the portals, Olesya will know which one you’re at. Wherever it is.”

            Kerillian raised a brow at the Witch Hunter, then to Sienna and smirked.

            “You’re growing soft.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now go, but remember, we have unfinished business.”

            Kerillian offered a mock salute and rushed into the darkness of night. The façade she’d adopted vanished as she charged into the forest. Finding Aelia’s trail was easy, her left foot was dragging, and she’d forgone all semblance of stealth. All the rage from before reignited, clawing its way forth in the form of a bellow that shook the boughs of the trees.

            “ **I’M COMING FOR YOU AELIA, AND NOT EVEN YOUR GOD CAN SAVE YOU NOW!** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one I know, and don't worry. This isn't the end of the fic. In fact its just getting started. We'll see what happens next wont we?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew, hammered this out in nine days, NINE. Don't think I've written that fast in a while if I'm honest. But I think its cause of you guys, and all the lovely words, fan art and fiction thats pouring out of this little fandom. Enough to give a man plenty of inspiration :)

            Kruber swam in a thick layer of muck, his fingers grasping for something, anything. Nothing. He kicked against the dark, finding his movements slowed to an infuriating degree. What was happening? Where was he? Last thing he remembered was—

            A lance, thrust through his chest.

            Pain.

            Sigmar the pain: like a patch of troll bile blooming in his chest, pulsing with every beat of his fluttering heart. Markus coughed, taking a lungful of the tainted substance. The acid in his chest pulsed again, sending him into a series of painful spasms. He tumbled end over end, listing into darkness. Kruber felt his lungs seize under the pressure, begging him to gift them with sweet oxygen. Taal what he’d wouldn’t give to be bleeding out on the cobbles right about now.

            Just as he was sure his lungs would burst, the heavy sensation around him vanished, leaving nothing but open air as he continued to plummet through the dark. Wind whipped past his ears, sending remnants of the stinking quagmire past his body.

            Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t hold back the terrified scream that loosed itself from his lips, in all his life he’d never fallen a distance like this, and he knew the result would not be pleasant.

            The acid in his chest spread from his chest, slipping into his left arm with every pump of his stuttering heart. It burned like a thousand suns, worse than warpshot, than a blightstormer’s curse, than the necromancer who’d claimed his men.

            His eyes hardened. If that cold-hearted son of a bitch hadn’t been able to claim him then, he wouldn’t allow a traitorous handmaiden to fell him now. He just had to remain calm, think. The wind whipped at his ears, deafening in its intensity, yet the pain in his chest had come to a manageable ache.

            The darkness started to peel away like the curtains on some great stage. Below him swam a plain of murky vegetation, dotted with mounds of what he could only assume were bodies, bubbling oily lakes that birthed giant clouds of foul smelling vapor, and wide stretches of forest that could rival Athel Yenlui in its size. Kruber shook his head, eyes coming to focus on a central dais, devoid of any form of vegetation. He shuddered when his feet came to rest on the floor, not marble, as he had hoped, but a tightly packed layer of shiny white teeth.

            “Sigmar’s breath…”

            “ _He can’t help you here boy_ …”

            Kruber jumped at the voice, which was laced with a faint echo of something deeper and far darker. The mercenary’s hands went for weapons he no longer possessed. So he grit his teeth and turned to face the source, fists raised. A figure stood at the foot of the dais, a little taller than Kruber if he had to guess. In his right hand he clutched a gnarled staff, while the other rested on the pommel of a sword. His features were hidden beneath a mud stained cloak.

            “Who’re you then?”

            The figure chuckled, sweeping its staff towards the blight speckled hills around them

            “ _Your guide in this cursed place son._ ”

            “I’m not your son.”

            Though he couldn’t see it, he was sure the figure smiled beneath that hood of his.

            “ _Course not… boy_.”

 

***

 

            Kerillian’s senses told her where she needed to go. All energy focused on one task: kill the traitor, for Loren, for the Everqueen, for Lileath, and above all, for Markus. She no longer balked at the thought of him, he was at the center of her heart now, and damn the consequences. If the darkness was indeed coming, she’d savor every blessed second she had left. No matter the costs, she would succeed.

            Aelia’s trail was easy to follow, the steady trickle of ichor obvious even in the darkness of the forest, its smell matched only by its caustic nature. Kerillian paused over a large pool of the vicious fluid, sniffing the winds for any sign of the handmaiden. Her scent was growing in its foulness, as if her body was shedding the illusion of purity she’d so carefully curated.

            The elf’s eyes slipped closed, ears attuned to Aelia’s hobbling footsteps as she sprinted through the forest. A devious smile crept its way across her lips; she wouldn’t get away this time.

            Kerillian dashed through the trees, blades at the ready. A wisp of blue cloth caught her eye as she lunged forward, bringing the swords down in a deadly arc. Aelia cried out, a short gasp laced with terror.

            “I’m here for you… cousin.” Kerillian whispered.

            The maiden lashed out and missed by a wide margin. Kerillian couldn’t help the dark chuckle that poured from her lips. Aelia was afraid, she could see it in her every move, the way her heart raced in her decaying chest, and the way her ichor burbled forth.

            The Maiden took off into the underbrush at a full pelt, pain forgotten in favor of survival. Kerillian wouldn’t let her get away so easily. Not after everything she had done, and tried to do. White hot fury, either from Lileath or deep within her soul surged in her limbs, driving her to run further, strike harder, and kill quicker.

            Aelia’s heart rate was practically audible now, thumping in torturous tandem with the wood elf’s footsteps. Oh how she’d missed this, the true hunt. Ratmen were one thing yes, but to _hear_ her quarry’s terror, to _see_ it in their eyes as she drove her blades home. That was bliss. That was her true calling, and with the Everqueen’s blessing, she would achieve it.

            The elven huntress clambered up the nearest tree and nocked a single arrow, one of three she’d managed to collect. Sighting the fleeing handmaiden was easy, as was lining up the shot. But getting the arrow to pin her arm to a nearby oak? That was a little taste of revenge.

            “You will pay for what you’ve done!” Kerillian shouted.

            “ _Will I?!_ ” Aelia howled, features frozen in a pained grimace. “ _Your sleeping aid gotten up yet?_ ”

            Kerillian barely gave her time to run, letting another missile pierce through the back of her knee with a twitch of the fingers. Aelia cried out, falling to the forest floor in a crumpled heap, breaths quick, heart beating impossibly fast. Kerillian would take her time with this.

            She made no attempt to soften her footsteps; she _wanted_ the fallen maiden to know where she was coming from, make things more interesting. As expected the cursed spear flew straight for her, easily deflected into a suitably thick tree trunk. Kerillian took great pleasure in the way Aelia’s eyes widened at the sight. Her spear, the one thing she had to show for her commitment to her foul God had just failed her again. How she longed for the ability to read minds in that moment, just to taste the terror that was no doubt building with her every step.

            By the time she got to her position Aelia had wrenched the arrow free and started off into another run. Kerillian chuckled under her breath and took her time to line up the final shot, this time aiming for the back of her throat. It probably wouldn’t kill her, but it would be a good way to remind the woman of her previous bouts, and what she was about to do to her.

            Another cry of pain was her reward, driving Kerillian to rush forward, bow replaced with twin blades. Aelia was barely ten feet ahead, writhing in the undergrowth like a maggot.

            Just as she was about to connect she heard the sound of the spear driving towards her. She rolled out of the way on instinct, letting a thin smile grace her lips as Aelia stood, arrow shaft snapped at the neck. The spear flashed into her hand with a spark of green, temporarily illuminating her rotten form.

            “ _You just don’t know when to quit do you?!_ ” Aelia spat.

            “And neither do you,” Kerillian shot back, taking her usual stance.

            The fallen maiden’s first strike nearly found her throat, but a swift deflection with her bracers and a kick to Aelia’s midsection was enough to send her reeling. Kerillian pressed forward, striking at the gaps in Aelia’s guard and avoiding the brunt of the woman’s ripostes. She chuckled again, this time mere inches from Aelia’s face.

            “Stop laughing!”

            The maiden brought the haft of her spear upwards, connecting with Kerillian’s jaw and dazing her enough for the fallen maiden so sweep her leg and drive the tip of the blade towards her chest. The wood elf hooked the cross guard of her sword against the haft of the spear, just managing to shift the tip away from her torso and to the side. It bit into her armor, shearing away bark, leather and fabric in a terrible flash of light.

            “Close, but not close enough.”

            Kerillian tangled her legs around the other elf’s and twisted, bringing herself to her feet while sending Aelia to the forest floor. To her credit, the cursed elf was quick to recover, sweeping her spear in a circle as she rose, forcing Kerillian back a few paces.

            The women’s ragged breathing battered the forest like a heavy rain, drowning out their other senses. Kerillian struggled to hear Aelia’s heartbeat over her own. Sweat drenched her face, stinging her eyes with its saltiness.

            “ _Tired cousin?_ ”

            Kerillian let out a single guffaw, noting the way her former ally’s chest heaved, how the ichor continued to bubble forth, glistening like the darkest tar.

            “I’d ask the same of you. I thought Handmaidens were supposed to be the best of the best? You’re no better than the common scourge I’ve slaughtered.”

            Aelia growled and took a step forward, spear raised in a low guard.

            “ _You want to qualify that boast?_ ”

            “Lets.”

            They stood in silence, neither elf willing to move first. Aelia twitched, neck snapping to the side with a disturbing _crack_. She smiled, and as Kerillian watched some of the wounds she’d inflicted started to heal.

            “ _It seems my God is not finished with me_.”

            Aelia charged, lowering her form so it was close to the spear and therefore harder to hit. Her ragged cry tore through the air like a thousand howling wolves. It pierced the wood elf’s ears as a needle through flesh, forcing Kerillian to act and not think, eyes closed, blades whirling.

            What happen next was hard to describe. In her throat lay a single name, one she had come to recognize as her true patron. One she would from this day forth cry to the heavens when she charged into battle.

            “ **Lileath!** ”

            Her blades cleaved through the maiden’s chestplate as if through air. The only sign of resistance was on the last tug as the metal buckled. Kerillian’s eyes widened as she took in her handiwork. Before her lay a section of the handmaiden’s chestpiece, cut in a V shape. The edges of her blades were pristine, untouched by their path through the maiden’s body.

            Aelia coughed up what looked like a lump of flesh.

            “ _You cant stop what’s coming Kerillian_ ,” she rasped.

            “Aye, maybe so.” Kerillian spat back, driving the tip of her sword into Aelia’s side. “But we can fight to the last breath. While you? You’ll die having failed the Rotfather.”

            The fallen handmaiden choked out a spurt of blood.

            “ _Have I? I brought this town to its knees, and with the rot settled in, it’s only a matter of time before the Riekland falls to ruin, and Athel Loren along with it!_ ”

            Kerillian drove the blade further in, tearing through flesh, sinew, and bone.

            “Over my dead body.”

            “ _That’s the idea._ ”

            She heard the spear before she saw it, twisting one last time and letting the lance pin Aeila to the nearest tree. She howled in anguish, clawing at the polearm like a trapped animal.

            Kerillian took her time with this, cleaving the fallen maiden limb from limb as a butcher would a choice piece of meat. A profound sense of euphoria, near limitless in its intensity, filled her limbs as she took in the terror writ across Aelia’s once condescending features.

            **_Stop_**

            The wood elf froze mid swing, head cocked to the side. She knew that voice, and yet she didn’t. It seemed to drift on the leaves, in the rustling of branches. Her eyes never left Aelia’s, screwed up tight.

            **_That’s enough child, its over. You won. Now return her to the soil and be done with it. You have more important work to do._**

Aelia’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch, spotting Kerillian’s poised blades.

            “ _No… no n_ ot like this!”

            This brought the wood elf out of her reverie, anger returning to her limbs, yet muted.

            “Its too late for apologies.”

            “No, no please!” Aelia’s tears were flowing freely now, throat no longer oozing the foul liquid. What remained of her form shuddered, all the pain finally catching up with her. “Please, not like this.”

            Her remaining hand wrapped itself around Kerillian’s wrist.

            “Please, if you ever cared…”

            Kerillian severed the hand, feeling all her rage vanish as she began the final act of her work.

            “That’s where you made your first mistake.”

            Now the elbow.

            “There’s no love lost between me and my kin.”

            The shoulder.

            “All I care for is back there,” she gestured towards the town. “And in the heavens. Lileath has given me purpose, and Markus…”

            Aelia hissed, looking to the sky with a faint whimper.

            “Love. He’s given you love.”

            “Aye.”

            The fallen maiden returned her attention to Kerillian, tears driving tracks through the grime on her cheeks.

            “And when he passes? What then? Will you fall into despair, or will you ‘fight on’?”

            Aelia’s voice started to waver as the blood drained from her torso, her skin finally taking on the clammy grey she’d long come to associate with the servants of Nurgle.

            “I’ll deal with it.”

            Kerillian pressed the blades against her throat, thoughts of revenge long abandoned.

            “I hope Nurgle finds you first, otherwise you’re in for an eternity of hell.”

            Aelia chuckled, sucking in a rattling breath that sounded like bone hitting bone.

            “I’m already there… cousin.”

            Kerillian’s justice was swift, severing the head with a final strike.

            The corpse decayed in an instant, as if all Aelia’s years had come back in a heartbeat. Her armor, now devoid of shape and form clattered to the soil, taint still evident in the sickly green mucus coating it. The spear however, remained where it was, still humming with its cursed energy.

            “Lileath, guard my soul, I have use of this weapon.”

 

***

 

            He wasn’t sure how long he’d followed the figure, but they’d long abandoned the dais of teeth in favor of a more gruesome field. Thousands of bodies lay at his feet, wriggling against some unseen force. Among them lay equal number of greenskin, troll, skaven, man, dwarf, and if he squinted hard enough, he could have sworn he spotted a few beast men in the mix. They reached out for them as they passed, but their grips were weak, ineffectual as a newborn child.

            “Where are we going?” Kruber asked.

            “ _A place where we’ll be safe._ ”

            “Why do you care?”

            The figure stopped, turning its hood enough to catch Kruber’s eye.

            “ _I have a debt to repay lad._ ”

            He said no more and pressed on. Kruber followed, keeping a good ten feet behind him in case he tried anything. The Mercenary flicked his gaze from mound to mound, watchful for ambush.

            “ _The fields of rot offer no danger’s to the touched lad, it’s the swamp of pestilence we’ll have to worry about._ ”

            “The touched?”

            He chuckled.

            “ _Surely that wound’s not for show?_ ”

            Kruber’s eyes fell to his left arm, which had turned a forest green. He grimaced as a bubble formed, popped, and reformed in a manner of seconds, like a perverse pot of stew.

            “Taal’s breath…”

            “ _He can’t hear you in here lad. Come, unless you want the poxwalkers to find ya._ ”

            The mercenary hurried after his guide, resisting the urge to tear at his ruined flesh. He had to maintain his composure if he wanted to get out of this, otherwise who knows what would happen.

            “ _My name’s Karl, thank you for asking._ ”

            “Kruber, sorry.”

            “ _I know who you are, you’re all they’ve talked about for the past week._ ”

            Kruber forwent his sense of security to take up position to the right of the figure.

            “Who’s been talking about me?”

            “ _Who else? The damned elf and her erstwhile commander, Havel Von Gurglestrike_.”

            The name tugged at the back of Kruber’s mind, from a distant memory. From his past? No, someone else’s, Sienna’s perhaps?

            “ _We’re here, follow me_.”

            Karl rushed into a cleft amidst the mounds of flesh. Kruber shivered as a single hand brushed his neck and he burst through.

            “Ugh, makes my skin—” he looked back to his festering arm. “Crawl…”

            “ _Heh, better get used to that, otherwise you’ll go insane. Its what drives the elves mad most of the time._ ”

            A few sparks lit the interior of their newfound cover, catching on a pile of what Kruber prayed was wood.

            “ _Here, eat this, it’ll help._ ”

            Karl pressed a mass of roots into Kruber’s good hand. He eyed the bundle suspiciously, unsure as to their origin or kind.

            “ _You want that festering to slow or not?_ ”

            “S’pose so…”

            “ _Then eat soldier._ ”

            A small portion of his mind wanted to refuse out of spite, but the allure of not becoming a plague-infested corpse far outweighed the impulse. He chewed swiftly, trying not to taste whatever ungodly flavor was present in the roots. Swallowing them felt like a million tiny legs had decided to creep down his throat at once.

            “Ugh… this better work Karl.”

            “ _See for yourself._ ”

            Kruber looked to his injury, which true to the man’s word, had started to recede past his wrist and up to his elbow. All trace of disease gone in an instance.

            “Wh-how?”

            Karl chuckled.

            “ _Trade secret, all I can tell you is its damned hard to get a hold of in the real world. Especially considering the sisterhood’s long dead._ ”

            “Sisterhood? You can’t mean…”

            Karl chuckled again, prodding the flames to a higher point.

            “ _Like I said, trade secret._ ”

 

***

 

            As she breathed in deep, a familiar place flashed before her eyes, a broken temple deep in an abandoned forest. Athel Yenlui. Her eyes widened. 

             _ **If you hurry, you can meet your friends at the portal. Go, I have one more task for you**_

            Kerillian burst through the trees, making for where she’d last seen Saltzpyre and the others. If she was right, they’d made their way to the northeast. She only slowed to collect what arrows she could off the corpses. If any of the remaining rotbloods were smart they’d lie in ambush around the portal circle. Saltzpyre and the others would know this of course, but it never hurt to be prepared in case they weren’t, lumberfoots being what they were.

            Her deft eyes found their trail, accompanied by deep grooves in the soil; a stretcher for Markus no doubt. The thought of seeing his broken form brought a flash of white-hot hatred to her soul once more, but it subsided with the heavy clank of the spear against her back. She’d managed to tie a long strip of vine to both ends, so as not to touch it skin to haft.

            Now it clattered against her bark armor in a most annoying rhythm. But she had to bear it, for him. If Sienna and Olesya could get a decent look at it they could probably heal him. Probably…

            She shook her head. No time for thoughts like that. She had to focus.

            A break in the trees granted her sight of her allies, moving slowly and as silently as three well equipped mercenaries could be. Sienna’s lights were dimmed, which meant…

            “Watch your step here Grimgi, Zharrinn, don’t want to jostle the sergeant more than he already has been.”

            She chuckled, feeling the tension in her shoulders vanish.

             “Thought you’d be farther along Lumberfoots. But then again your name should have been the dead giveaway.”

            Only Saltzpyre jumped out of the trio. Bardin broke out in a small bout of laughter, while Sienna lit her flame enough to catch Kerillian’s form breaking through the trees.

            “Thought you’d be knee deep in Elgi blood about now, what happened?”

            “She’s taken care of.” Kerillian said, “This on the other hand, needs a look at.”

            The elf slung the spear off her shoulder and let it sway near Sienna’s head.

            “A trophy?”

            “A chance,” Kerillian specified, setting a hand on Markus’s shoulder. “For him”

            “I see…” Saltzpyre added, his eye flicked between Kerillian and the cursed weapon, as if he were trying to decide whether or not she held an ulterior motive.

            She sighed and offered it to the Witch Hunter.

            “If you want it one-eye just ask, getting tired of your looks.”

            Saltzpyre looked as if he’d sucked on a particularly tart lemon as he snatched it from her hand. She shook her head and crouched to Markus’s level, watching his eyes flick from side to side under their lids.

            “I’ll carry him, Bardin can lead the way.”

            The Witch Hunter quirked a brow but did not protest as she took up his side of the stretcher. Sienna gave her a teasing eyebrow waggle before they set off again, but Kerillian paid it no mind. All she cared about was the man in front of her.

            “I think you and I are going to have a little talk as well…” Sienna added.

            The elf heaved a long-suffering sigh.

            “What’s to talk about? You already know enough.”

            The Bright Wizard chuckled.

            “Course I do, doesn’t mean we can’t swap secrets.”

            “I don’t need to know about your midnight trysts Wizard,” Kerillian said through a smirk, before leaning in close. “I hear them every night.”

            With this the two women shared a tiny laugh while the Witch Hunter kept his gaze dead ahead. Kerillian didn’t fail to notice the slight tinge of red dusting his ears. Her smile fell though as Kruber grunted in his sleep, sending her heart a flutter at the sight of his grimacing face.

            “Shh, its alright Markus.”

            Her hand came to rest on his brow, finding it searing to the touch.

            “We need to hurry, where’s the damn portal?!”

            “Calm yourself elf, its here.” Saltzpyre snapped.

            The white blue of the portal enveloped them in an instant, sending Kerillian’s stomach end over end. She braced herself against the stretcher and wished not for the first time she didn’t have to rely on the old hag’s magic.

            She blinked, and found herself in the center of the keep. Sienna was already tugging Markus’s body towards Olesya’s workstation. The elf followed sullenly, eyes downcast as the others rushed in around him. He was alive, and though she was hesitant to admit it, in good hands. In other words, there was nothing else she could do.

            “By Sigmar, what’s gone and happened to the fool now?”

            Kerillian passed by the workstation, eyes set on her small hut. A simple command drummed itself into her brain, straight from The Lady’s lips, a place to visit, something to earn.

            “And where do you think you’re going?”

            Saltzpyre was leaning against the door she just exited, arms crossed. She uttered a curse and continued walking, hoping the stubborn mayfly would get the point. Unfortunately for her he didn’t get to be a Witch Hunter without blind perseverance.

            “I asked you a question elf.”

            “Aye, and I’m not keen on answering if ya didn’t notice.”

            His hand snagged her upper arm, stopping her dead in her tracks.

            “If you value that eye, I’d let go.”

            “You haven’t been checked.”

            The man spat his words out like one would a particularly foul fruit. Kerillian flashed him a glare, expecting to get one in return, but instead found a grim set jaw and… concern? She raised a brow.

            “You and Kruber have been fighting the agents of Chaos for quite some time. You know the rule, check for wounds, and any signs of corruption. Kruber’s infection is plain as day. You on the other hand…”

            Kerillian heaved a quiet sigh.

            “Fine, but only Sienna.”

            Saltzpyre released his hold on her arm.

            “Very well.”

            The Witch Hunter left her side, boots echoing through the stone halls like thunder. Sienna arrived soon after, medical supplies in hand.

            “You called?”

            “That mayfly should learn what is and isn’t his business before someone is forced to remind him of it.”

            The Bright Wizard shook her head as they walked to Kerillian’s hut. Having caught sight of the small bedroll she wanted nothing more than to curl up and drift off to a dreamless sleep. But that wasn’t her life now, she couldn’t afford to rest, even this small distraction was barely tolerable.

            “Well let’s get this over with.”

            As Sienna set up the proper light and utensils for Saltzpyre’s ‘check ups’ her eyes came to rest on the swift bow she’d recently acquired. The elven script glowed light blue, betraying the power held within. As she gathered it in her arms, she felt a surge of power, as if The Everqueen herself were telling her that yes, this is the weapon to use.

            “Face first.”

            “Must we?”

            The Bright Wizard gave her a pointed look.

            “Fine, fine.”

            Sienna didn’t even blink as her scars were revealed, instead she offered a quiet hum and brought Kerillian closer to the candlelight, fingers pulling back the elf’s eyelids.

            “Look up.”

            She obeyed, only muttering a couple of times about the ridiculousness of the whole affair. Next she moved to the wounds Kerillian had sustained in the interim, namely the broken ribs, which bore no signs that they had been there in the first place.

            “Seems that healer did her work well.”

            “Or Shallya if you believe in such things…” Kerillian muttered.

            Sienna hummed again, tugging the elf’s tunic down before returning to the task at hand.

            “You’re afraid aren’t you?”

            Kerillian started, eyes narrowing at the other woman, who shrugged.

            “You’re suspiciously tight lipped.”

            The elf looked away, fingers finding the soft fabric of her blanket to toy with.

            “I’ve had a hard day.”

            Sienna finished examining her arm and gestured for the other.

            “Its alright to show concern you know. Its human.”

            “I’m not human.”

            The Bright Wizard scoffed.

            “You know what I mean.”

            Kerillian met Sienna’s gaze, searching the dark embers for a sign of respite or mere teasing. She found neither, just a hollow look that told her to drop the act and spill her guts.

            “I’m…” she sighed before answering. “He’s just a mayfly. Why should I be worried?”

            Sienna’s closed her eyes and shook her head. The silence that manifested itself between them was deafening, separating Kerillian from the one person she’d hoped would understand. The elf grit her teeth as one of the needles pressed a little too hard into the sole of her foot.

            “You’re clean, whatever its worth.”

            “Then tell one-eye that.”

            Kerillian watched the other woman leave, then when she was sure she was out of earshot she slammed her fist against the wood of her bed.

            “Damn them all.”

            She stood; collecting the weapons she needed for the task before stopping by the armory to resupply her cache of arrows. Bardin made his way through, whistling some inane tune as he laid his arms in their proper places; all save for the single hand axe he kept at his side. The Dwarf shot her a curious glance.

            “You going hunting Wutelgi?”

            “You could say that.”

            He scoffed at her appearance and grabbed a handgun.

            “Not without armor you’re not. It’s dangerous, specially in these times.”

            Kerillian sighed and lowered the firearm with a single finger, smiling despite herself.

            “This is something I must do alone dwarf,” she looked to the central hall, where Lohner, Sienna, and Saltzpyre were deep in conversation. “Look after the lumberfoots for me will you?”

            Bardin’s face fell behind the beard, dark brown eyes searching hers.

            “You speak as if you’re going to be gone long.”

            “I may. Or may not. Just watch them for me, aye?”

            The Dwarf opened his mouth to speak, but let it slip closed with a nod.

            “Look out for yourself Wutelgi. We still have a score to settle.”

            She chuckled.

            “Look out yourself Dwarf, I’m bound to live longer than you anyway.”

            With this done she crept through the mercenary’s quarters and into the side entrance of the portal room, where she caught sight of Olesya deep in her mutterings. Faint whispers of grey light hovered over Markus’s body, which writhed and contorted with every touch.

            “How is he?”

            “He’ll be a damn side better if I have time to work,” the old woman snapped.

            Kerillian blinked once, unimpressed at the wizard’s ire.

            “I need a portal to the center of Athel Yenlui.”

            “Oh, is that all? Would you like a side helping of Elven wards to go along with it?”

            The elf grit her teeth, holding back a million curses and bitter words she wanted to spit out at her.

            “I need to go back, there’s… something waiting for me there.” Then, when the Wizard wouldn’t look up, swallowed her pride and said: “Please Olesya, if you care about this team, you’ll do this for me.”

            That got her attention. A wicked grin snaked its way across the old woman’s face, creasing her leathery skin like a crumpled strip of parchment. She waved a hand over Markus’s body and stepped closer.

            “Very well, little elf, but I know who you really mean.”

            She jerked her head towards the unconscious mercenary.

            “You aren’t fooling anyone, least of all me. If you want this favor, you’ll need to get something for me while you’re there.”

            Kerillian scowled.

            “What are you planning, hag?”

            Olesya shrugged.

            “A thought, a musing, something that may help in the future. Do you want the favor or not?”

            The elf gave Markus one last look before offering a decisive nod, hand extended.

            “Very well.”

 

***

 

            Sienna flinched as the telltale crack of lightning filled the keep, alerting everyone to the portal’s use. Though by the time they congregated in Olesya’s workshop, the portal was din, and she was nose deep in a grimoire.

            “Where is the elf?”

            “Off on a quest of her own choosing. I say good riddance, one less annoyance buzzing around my worktable.”

            Saltzpyre sputtered, marching up to her table in a huff.

            “A quest of her own? Did she not tell you the location?”

            “Course she did, but I see no reason to tell you.”

            The Witch Hunter’s cheeks darkened to a deep red as he fumed, hands wavering over his brace of pistols. If Olesya took note of this she showed no outward concern.

            “My advice? Be careful in future, and allow me to do my work.”

            “She’s right,” Lohner added. “Can’t do anything about it now. There’s still work to do.”

            Sienna took up position next to Saltzpyre, hand coming to rest at the small of his back. He tensed at the contact, but allowed the act to settle him from a raging inferno to a mere smolder.

            “She’ll be back soon, I’m sure of it.”

            “That’s right,” Bardin said, “The Wutelgi likes to slay Ratmen, and where better than here to get some action?”

            “In more ways than one…” Olesya muttered from behind her book.

            “Oh shut up witch,” Saltzpyre sighed, “Sigmar preserve me.”

            With that they took their leave, each to their own tasks — or pleasures — as the night passed. All taking a moment to ponder the fate of their wounded friend, and the one rushing headlong into danger, not knowing if the future would bring victory, or tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect an... interesting chapter next time. Were gonna focus on dear Markus a bit.


End file.
